Per Tempus Discamus Amoris
by greenisacolorto
Summary: When a misread spell sends Harry plummeting through time, where else would he end up but in the childhood of his worst enemy? HP/TR/LV Time Travel
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter books or characters.

"Speaking"

_Thoughts_

_**Parseltongue**_

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

"_I must govern the clock, not be governed by it"– Golda Meir_

Harry waited silently, completely dressed and perched on the edge of his bed in his bedroom on the second floor of Number 4, Privet Drive. _11:55 p.m._ shown from the alarm clock next to him on his desk; illuminating a miniscule section of the room and glowing bright green in the darkness that surrounded him. Five more minutes, only five more painfully long minutes, and he would be free; free to do whatever he wanted. He would no longer be forced to spend his summers at the Dursley's with only blood wards protecting him, from Voldemort, yes, but not his own family.

The first thing he would do when he turned seventeen, he'd decided months ago when he was still in school, would be apparating to Sirius' home–Number 12 Grimmauld Place. It was his now, the Order wasn't even using it anymore. Not since Dumbledore died. It was no longer a safe place for them to converge, what with Snape knowing its location and being able to inform his Death Eater _pals_ about it.

_11:58_

Harry adjusted the rucksack on his shoulder. Although it was small, it had an undetectable extension charm placed upon it and contained everything that he held dear to himself. Hedwig was already gone. He'd sent her on ahead of him. There was no need for her to be with him when he apparated. She would just be a hassle; another thing for him to hold.

_11:59_

It was nearly time now; only a matter seconds stood between Harry and complete freedom. A small part of him told him the he should feel nostalgic about his time spent with the Dursley's, and that he should feel a touch of sadness for leaving the home where he'd grown up, but a larger, more sensible section of his mind ordered the smaller part to keep its thoughts to itself. His _family_ had been horrible to him for all his known life and he was ready to get out of the hellhole.

After all, he hadn't planed everything perfectly and spent hours researching in the library for his plan to fail prematurely. As soon as he got to Grimmauld place, he would set up new wards around the house to keep people out. He'd even managed to sneak away from the Dursley's during the first week of the summer holidays and shop in Diagon Alley for the books necessary for him to become acquainted with blood wards. Since blood wards had been able to keep Voldemort from finding his hiding spot at Number Four, they should (if done properly) be able to continue keeping the fruitcake at bay until Harry was ready to face him. All he really had to do, anyways, was say a few words, donate a few drops of his blood and "poof", a new protective shield that wouldn't allow Snape, or any other Death Eater or Dark Lord he brought, in.

_Beep, beep._

The small clock on the bedside stand was the source of the quiet sound, announcing the time and resetting itself to run for another twenty-four hours. The alarm caused small hairs all over Harry's body to stand on end in anticipation of what was to come in the next few minutes.

It was midnight now, July thirty-first, but Harry didn't feel any different. He had just turned 17 and was finally at the legal age for wizards to do magic without being court-ordered. It was ridiculous, really that law the Ministry had in place. Harry didn't understand why it was there except to bother people. It couldn't have been in place because the Ministry thought students to be incompetent; Harry had proven time and time again from his very first day at Hogwarts that he was capable of taking just about anything that was thrown in his way. A thought did occur to him more than once, though, that the Ministry had its Anti-Underage Magic law in place as a tiny discrimination against muggle-borns. During second year, Dobby had been the one to use magic, not Harry, but the Ministry had sent a letter to Harry warning him not to do magic again over the summer, ever, or he'd be expelled, yet, when he was at the Weasley's house a week later and there was constant magic all around him, no letters came. A pureblood or half-blood living with magical parents could practice magic and get ahead of the game without the Ministry being able to distinguish if the one performing the charms was adult or child but if magic happened in a muggle-borns house, obviously it was the student misbehaving.

Harry had decided during his fifth year at Hogwarts that he wanted to be an auror and fight against Dark witches and wizards. But, the more he thought about his unavoidable duel with Voldemort, the more unappealing fighting wizarding crime became. And after having both witnessed and fallen victim to some of the most appalling decisions made by the Ministry of Magic, the more he considered a job in politics.

At least, for a short while, until most things had been changed or straightened out. Then, he'd probably quit whatever high-paying job he was employed to and live off his vast fortune for a few years, doing what he wanted, maybe play some professional Qudditch, and then teach at Hogwarts. Or write an autobiography. _That_ would probably sell quite well around the wizarding world. He'd have to fluff it up a bit, make some of the duller moments in his life more interesting for the reader, but who would know? He's the one who lived through it all, no one else. Who'd be there to call him on his bluff?

He smiled a small smile to himself before picturing his destination in his mind, turning on the spot, and disappearing forever from the lives of his only living relatives. He wasn't about to stick around to find out whether or not Voldemort really _could_ find him without his mother's blood wards in place.

Seconds later, he appeared in the dusty old living room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place and immediately set about constructing the house's new wards. Hedwig was already situated on the stone mantel of the fireplace, watching his every movement with her amber eyes.

Harry didn't even shrug off his rucksack before starting the ritual. He pulled out a plastic tupperware container, already about a sixth of the way full of his own blood (which he had collected over the past month), a paintbrush, and a rune covered knife that he'd purchased in Diagon Alley with the books. He popped the lid off of the tupperware and tossed it off into a dark corner of the room. It was no longer necessary. The only thing he was focused on at the moment was creating the protective wards around his new home before Voldemort decided to use their mind-connection to determine Harry's location. He dipped the paintbrush into his pre-drawn blood, and began to paint runic symbols on the hardwood floor.

After about five minutes of the tedious work, he placed the brush into the container and the container on the ground outside of the bloody characters. He straightened up, and looked down at the crimson liquid on the floor. It sparkled eerily in the flickering light of the candles that had magically lighted themselves when Harry first appeared in the room. He held the handle of the knife firmly in his right hand and carefully rested the blade in his left.

"Tolle animam meam tuto annos retro." Harry spoke the Latin spell in a clear, unwavering voice before quickly slashing his palm with the knife. He winced slightly at the pain it brought but watched, transfixed, as the blood rolled down his palm and dripped onto the floor. As it hit, a bright white light engulfed the room and Harry felt a familiar, but very unwelcome tugging sensation in his navel.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **sorry it's taking so long to update I actually have a huge chunk of this already written, but it has to be edited and spit up into chapters... everything should come out faster now though, hopefully... -_-;;

and I apologize in advance if you find any typos or any other errors that I missed while I was going through. I tried. :P

* * *

><p>"<em>Day, n. A period of twenty-four hours, mostly misspent." –Ambrose Bierce<em>

The situation was not good.

In fact it was very, _very_, bad. It was, hands down, the _worst_ possible thing that had ever happened to Harry in his _life_.

It was worse than being used as a punching bag for Dudley's amusement throughout his childhood. Worse than the multiple times Voldemort had come after him with bloodlust in his crazed, crimson eyes. Worse than having to participate in the Triwizard Tournament during fourth year and putting up with Umbridge during fifth. The waist-high elephant dung Harry had managed to sink himself into was the most horrid he'd ever encountered.

Harry Potter was lost. In muggle London.

Now, that wouldn't have been so bad; in fact, it wouldn't have been bad at all…if he hadn't managed to somehow take a bath in De-Aging Solution as well because that was the only plausible explanation for his new appearance. Currently, he was standing in the middle of a bustling sidewalk looking exactly how he did when he was four. Even the clothes he'd been wearing the night before had miniaturized to fit his body, and if that wasn't enough, fate had decided to throw in a little something extra _just_ for him. _This_ muggle London looked decades different than the one he was used to in 1997; or, at least, the objects surrounding him did.

The Model T's driving by on the humid street looked as if they'd been rolled out of a historical museum, and the people walking past must've gotten their outfits from the same building. Everything looked so… old. From another, more _antique_, time period.

Yep, this had to be the _worst_ situation Harry had _ever_ gotten himself into. Chewing at his lower lip, he looked around at the women in their knee-length skirts and the men in their tweed suits and sighed. True, his clothing had shrunk along with his body, but they now seemed even more out of place than they had when Aunt Petunia first threw them at him after dying the garments grey. So, not unused to the funny stares directed his way, he adjusted his rucksack and marched through the throng of people, searching for some piece of evidence that would inform him of _when_, exactly, he was.

Elbows jostled him and bumped his head as he pushed on through the throng. He'd not forgotten the pains that came along with being small and out of most people's eyesight, but he didn't understand why no one was apologizing for knocking into his frail, four-year-old body. Their uncaring attitude was beginning to grate on his last nerve after he was nearly shoved into the path of an oncoming horse-drawn buggy. In fact, the only reason why he didn't go after his assailant and kick him, hard, in the shin was because as he flailed his arms in circles, trying to keep his balance on the curb, he caught sight of a boy in his early pre-teens across the street waving newspapers about.

"American Depression quickly swims across Atlantic!" the young boy shouted at the top of his lungs. "Unemployment in England reaches new high!"

His efforts to sell the two large stacks of papers next to him was slowly paying off as every once in a while someone dropped a coin in his outstretched hand and picked up a paper as he pocketed the money in a small pouch hanging from his side. Harry had no money with him that would work in the muggle world (and a very little amount that he could spend in the wizarding one), so he decided, against his better judgment, that stealing a paper would be the best course of action. It was an emergency, after all, so he couldn't be held accountable for his actions in a court of law; or so he told himself. Harry crossed the street and waited until an extra large gathering of people passed the newspaper boy, expertly merging with the crowd and snagging a paper when his back was turned. He held it close to his chest and jogged another two blocks before deeming it safe to find out the date.

His jaw dropped_. No way; no freaking way._

_Saturday: July 31, 1932_

"Why _me_?" Harry groaned as his brain quickly did the math. "Why _always me_?"

It was impossible, improbable, and absurd to most of the sane wizarding community. He'd traveled over fifty years into the past! No one had ever done it before, according to Hermione. It was against even the wizarding laws of nature (not that Harry knew they existed until he had to write an essay on it for Professor Binns). After third year, on the train ride back to platform nine and three-quarters, since they'd had an adventure together using it, Hermione had decided to regale him with all known facts about time turners and time travel. No one could go forward in time and no one could travel back more than a day or two.

So how was he here? How was he supposed to get home?

Harry's breathing became quick and shallow as a mild panic attack hit him in full force. He couldn't stay here; he didn't belong. What if he messed up some crucial event and he ended up not being born? Hermione had told him about unfortunate people who'd time traveled and accidentally gotten themselves killed or erased from time altogether. He couldn't be killed; he was the Boy-Who-Lived! Who would vanquish Voldemort if he wasn't around? Granted, there was a significant difference in the amount of Death Eaters versus the amount of Light wizards and witches, he thought, and it sometimes confused him as to why everyone shoved the responsibility of winning the war and murdering a murderer off on his shoulders, but he still had to prove to everyone that their faith in him wasn't fallacious!

After five minutes of imagining the most horrible scenarios, Harry's quickened breath steadied as he realized there might still be some hope for him in the form of a very ancient headmaster; Dumbledore. Dumbledore would know what to do. Dumbledore could help Harry. Once he explained the situation in full to him–

_No._ Harry sucked in, and grated his teeth along, his upper lip in disappointment. It wouldn't work. Dumbledore might not believe a word he was saying. He had no proof that he was from the future. No identification or device that obviously wasn't from this time period. He didn't even have a broken time turner that he could use as proof; not that that argument would work. Hermione told him, as he tried to play exploding snap with Ron and ignore her, that if a time turner broke, it was most probable that anyone near it would have their life sped up and die within a minute. Which was odd, considering that people couldn't use time turners to travel forward…

It was at that moment, while he stood on the stone sidewalk with many Londoners bustling past him trying to get to carry on with their dreary lives, that he had a minor epiphany. Magic. He had a fully functioning wand, something no four-year-old should have, and a vast mastery of spells that he wouldn't learn until he was an attendee of Hogwarts. He also thanked Merlin that he hadn't burned all of Lockhart's books yet because there was sure to be a publication date on the inside cover, and there was no way Lockhart was even _born_ yet.

Harry could have smashed his face into the nearest lamppost for forgetting he was a wizard. It was just like first year with the Devil's Snare and Hermione all over again, except now he was standing in her shoes. If he showed those things to Dumbledore and performed a few more complicated charms, then there was no _way_ the old man couldn't believe he was from the future and help Harry get back. And it wasn't like he didn't know how to find him. The headmaster, though it wasn't his current occupation, would always be at Hogwarts. True, it was the summer and there weren't any classes, but if Harry managed to get to Hogwarts and then asked the present headmaster where he could find Dumbledore, everything would work out fine. He had the mind of a battle-worn seventeen-year-old, after all, so planning and executing strategies came to him like second nature.

But then there was the matter of actually getting to Hogwarts.

Harry, after pulling off a superb imitation of a statue as he tried to figure out the best course of action, began strolling down the street again in the direction of the phone booth where Mr. Weasley had taken him two years ago when he had to attend that ludicrous hearing about the patronus he'd conjured to protect him and Dudley from the dementors. He couldn't apparate, so he'd have to use one of the many fireplaces the Ministry of Magic had for flooing. He remembered they had tons from when he went to rescue Sirius from Voldemort.

_Sirius…_

Harry's face twisted in pain at the recollection of his godfather. Whenever he remembered his recklessness and how it had gotten the man whom he considered a father killed, an overwhelming sense of guilt began building up until he felt like crying; but not now. He couldn't let his emotions take over at this crucial moment. He shook the depressing thoughts out of his head and set an expression of firm determination on his face. He needed to get to Dumbledore and explain to him that he had somehow traveled 65 years into the past and ended up looking like he did at the age of four.

Unfortunately, he didn't get as far as he'd hoped before a muggle constable stopped him.

_I guess four year olds don't usually wander about by themselves in any time period._ Harry turned his wide, innocent emerald eyes up to the face of the police officer that had cut him off from his short-lived journey back to 1997. The man was dressed in a navy blue uniform with silver buttons and one of those helmet hats Harry had occasionally seen on the television when his Aunt and Uncle decided to watch an "old time" movie. The police officer had kind, but inquisitive, light blue eyes and a bushy brown mustache not unlike Uncle Vernon's.

"Hello little one," he spoke in a mildly creaky baritone. "Are you lost?" Harry shook his head, black hair swishing around his face and the police officer cocked his head to the side. "Are you sure?" He looked around. "Where's your mummy?"

Harry gulped. Tell the truth, or lie? "She's, um, well, dead." Curse his honesty!

The officer's eyes widened a fraction of a centimeter, sympathy flooding into them. "Oh I'm terribly sorry. Your father then?"

Harry's right eye twitched behind his round glasses. He'd already given away information about his mother and he really didn't want to be sent away to an orphanage. It would be much more difficult for him to complete the task he'd placed upon himself if he was locked away with caretakers watching his every move.

"He's…eating."

The officer raised a single skeptical eyebrow. "And why aren't you with him? Aren't you hungry?"

"I didn't want the food so he let me go find somewhere else to get lunch."

The Officer chuckled, disbelievingly. "I highly doubt a good father would let a child as adorable as you wander around London unsupervised. There are…dangerous people out there who might…enjoy your looks a bit too much."

Harry's eye muscle spasmed at what the police officer was insinuating. _How could he say something like that to someone as young as I look?_

"Well, don't worry." The policeman encased Harry's small hand in his larger, beefier, appendage. "I know where we can keep you until your father comes looking."

"Erm, Mister?" Harry began as he was tugged, unwillingly, in the opposite direction from his destination.

The officer laughed. "You can call me Officer Jim, little one. What might I call you?"

"Harry, but–"

"Do you have a last name to go with the first?"

"Evans." He blinked, unsure of why he'd given his mother's maiden name instead of his own. Maybe it was because he was subconsciously craving a chance at anonymity, tired of being known as Harry Potter? Or maybe it was because he didn't want to give out any more truthful information about himself if he could help it.

"All right then, Harry Evans, don't be frightened. I'm sure your father will come looking for you at the police station eventually. But, since I can't have you tagging along with me the rest of the day, you'll wait for him at this nice little building for lost or alone children, just like you."

Liking the description of the unknown locating even less, Harry became more nervous with each step. It was pointless to try and fight Officer Jim with his weaker body, and there would probably be numerous opportunities for him to escape later. Hopefully.

They walked, hand-in-hand, for what seemed like forever before stopping in front of the most gloomy-looking place Harry had ever laid eyes on; Wool's Orphanage. Of course, he'd seen it before, but only in a memory. _This. Is. _Not_. Good._

Officer Jim pushed open one of the well-oiled wrought iron gates and led Harry down a gravel path, straight towards a pair of oak doors, which represented the entrance to the grey brick building that reminded Harry a bit too much of an asylum. "Here we are." Officer Jim took a round brass knocker–about an inch in diameter–in his unoccupied hand and rapped three times on the door.

Harry heard three distinct booms echo from within the structure and seemed to feel the heavy vibrations bounce about inside his body, guessing that they passed through Officer Jim as he rapped on the door. He waited, tensely, for someone to open the it, and about 30 seconds went by before he could make out feet moving on the other side. The door creaked open to reveal a woman in her mid-forties clothed in a long black dress with hair swept back into a low bun at the base of her skull. Her unfeeling eyes went from Officer Jim, to Harry, and back again, with no surprise gracing her features. _This must've happened before…_

"Afternoon, Mrs. Cole."

"Officer Jim," she responded curtly, "I see you've found another one." The woman's voice wasn't as pleasant as Officer Jim's but it was a far cry from the strictness of Professor McGonagall's.

"Aye, Mrs. Cole, but this one still has a parent. He's just a bit lost at the moment. Can you watch him?"

Mrs. Cole sighed but opened the door further to allow them entry. "We always have room." Officer Jim practically dragged the reluctant Harry into the orphanage and it was only once they were passed the threshold that Officer Jim dropped his hand. Mrs. Cole raised an eyebrow at Officer Jim. "You're going to stick around for this one?"

Officer Jim chuckled lightly. "No, I was just making sure he got here all right; I could feel him fighting against my grip the whole time. I'll be needing to head back now. I left my post and if the boss comes around to make sure we're all where we're supposed to be, then I'm screwed. Goodbye, Mrs. Cole. Behave yourself, Harry Evans. I'll be back later, to check up on you." Although he promised to return, Harry could feel in his gut that the navy-blue retreating back was the last he'd ever see of Officer Jim.

Mrs. Cole immediately closed the door behind the man and turned her questioning gaze solely on Harry, full-force, checking him over. "So your name's Harry Evans then, is it?" Harry nodded in confirmation, feeling no need to actually _talk_ to the woman. "It's not nice to lie, you know."

"Pardon?" _So much for the vow of silence…_

"You heard me. It's obvious you have no parents. I'm with orphans every day, so I can tell. You've all got that same look in your eyes. But Jim's a nice man, you should have told him the truth."

"I didn't want to end up in an orphanage."

"And fat good of luck that did you, pretending you have a father. Mark my words, Evans, you'll go to Hell if you continue to walk the path of deception your whole life. Better to quit that habit when you're young. If I hear you've been lying while you reside here, you'll be punished, got it?"

Harry nodded while scowling at the woman. He thought she might have been okay, until she told him he'd be going to Hell. _Can she even _say_ that to a child? No wonder Voldemort was so screwed up…_

Mrs. Cole made a little noise in the back of her throat, not truly believing him, as her beady eyes roamed from his feet to his messy black hair, trying, probably, to understand why he was dressed in such a strange manner. She gave up and passed him and motioning with her pointer finger. "Follow me."

Harry did as he was told, not wanting to start an unnecessary argument, and followed her down a sad hallway off to the right of the foyer. The floor, unlike the peeling grey paper that plastered the walls, was wood and finely polished, probably to keep the other children from trying to run around the interior of the orphanage. It looked odd compared to the rest of the broken and dusty building. It truly was a depressing place.

They stopped at the end of the corridor in front of another pair of smaller double doors that had a simple square design inscribed in the wood. There were a few hard, wooden, chairs stationed along both the left and right walls, which, Harry assumed, were for naughty children who needed to be punished or anyone else who wished to speak to Mrs. Cole but had to wait first. He knew the room behind the door had to be Mrs. Cole's office because of the nameplate next to the doorframe_. _Mrs. Cole pushed open one of the two doors and Harry walked inside, Mrs. Cole shuffling in after him and letting the door snap shut. She then swept over to a shiny metal filing cabinet behind a large mahogany desk and began rummaging through the drawers. The room was just as disheartening as the rest of the orphanage. There were a few colorful paintings of flowers pinned on the plaster walls in a vain attempt to give it some life, and two rounded Edwardian-style chairs with alternating dark and light pink pinstriped upholstery in front of the desk. They looked more comfortable than standing, and he was sure that he would be asked to soon anyway, so Harry made his way over and plopped down in one. While he was doing this, Mrs. Cole found whatever it was she had been looking for in the filing cabinet: a manila folder and, what appeared to be, a registration form.

She sat herself down in a much more plush, winged, high-back chair across from Harry and pulled out a blue fountain pen and, at the top of the folder, on the tab sticking out, wrote _Evans, Harry_. She looked up at Harry and handed him the form, along with the pen. "Fill this out. Any questions you have about the questions on the form, you may ask. I will be right here the whole time." Harry half-heartedly shrugged at the middle-aged woman and looked down at the sheet in front of him and easily started to fill it out. Mrs. Cole left her chair and went to stand by the uncurtained window.

Name: _Harry Evans_

Birth Date_: July 31,_ (he paused and did more math) _1928_

Eye Color:_ Green_

Hair Color:_ Black_

Glasses (circle yes or no): _Yes_

Prescription:_ Unknown_

Disabilities (circle yes or no): _No_

Explain:

Allergies: _None_

Height:

Weight:

Room:

Details:

Harry stopped writing after 'Allergies'. He didn't know his height or weight at the moment, his room number–whatever that meant–, or any details about his life he might want to tell this woman. Mrs. Cole must have heard the absence of the pen scratching his report on the paper because she was suddenly peering over Harry's shoulder, inspecting his answers.

"Alright, that'll do. If you could take off you're shoes and come over here please." Harry kicked off his shoes and slid out of the chair. He turned and walked over to where Mrs. Cole was waiting next to a scale he hadn't noticed when he entered the room that measured both height and weight. It was the kind Harry saw every time he was taken to a muggle doctor's office. "Up." Harry got on the scale, back to the wall. "Stand straight." He felt like a trained monkey in a circus show as he straightened his slumping back. Mrs. Cole played with the weights on the scale for a bit before jotting down some notes on the paper. After that, she quickly pushed her hand over Harry's head, brushing his skull with her palm, and scribbled down his height. "Okay, you're done here. Put your shoes back on and have a seat." Harry wandered back over to the desk and sat back down in the same chair he was in prior to the check up. He shoved his feet back into his shoes and read the words, upside-down, on the sheet placed on the desk in front of Mrs. Cole, who had returned to looking through the filing cabinets.

Height:_ 38 inches_

Weight: _34 lbs_

Harry blinked. At least he was healthier in this four-year-old body rather than when he was actually four. Mrs. Cole swiveled back to face Harry and sat down in her chair, untidily writing the number _28 _in the section for _Room_.

"Right. " She looked at Harry. "This might seem a bit rude of me for asking, but we need to know, government regulation and all. Please do not feel offended by the question or hold it against me. If there's anyone you should hold it against, it's child services for forcing us to have this information. Now, please, tell me, where are your parents? Both of them, exactly."

Harry stared at the woman, unsurprised. It made sense, sort of. As an establishment for childcare, they should have all the information they could on their kids and why they were at the orphanage instead of off living with a happy family, especially if said information would help place the children with a family in the time to come. Harry sighed. He'd been doing that a lot today, but at least he had a good reason for it. He'd had sixteen years to get over his parents' death, so it didn't really bring up any painful memories when he thought about them. Not like Sirius. "Dead, " he said in a scratchy voice, as if he were trying to hold back tears. He needed to at least _act_ like it was a new, fresh, wound and not a grown over scab.

Mrs. Cole blinked once before writing _Parents-deceased_ under _Details_. "Thank you Mr. Evans. That will be all." She placed the form in the folder, and the folder in the filing cabinet. "If you'll follow me, I'll give you a small tour and show you where your room is." She walked around the desk and passed Harry, expecting him to follow. She continued out the door and Harry trailed behind. He followed her back down the gloomy hall and into the foyer. There was a large staircase in the middle of the entryway, obviously leading upstairs, another hall to the left of that, and a huge archway that took up most of the wall opposite Harry. Mrs. Cole walked to the middle of the entrance hall and turned to look at Harry with her back to the archway.

"You may have already noticed on your way here, I don't know which direction you came from, but down the street that way"–she pointed behind her–"and around the corner"–the finger moved to her right–"there is a park. You may play at the park on weekends, but you must be back here for meals and curfew or you will be punished. " She paused and let that sink in. "Now, the whole orphanage here"–she moved her pointer finger in a circle–"is fenced in. You may play whatever games you like outside, but _always leave the gate closed. _If the gate is locked, do not climb over it, or force it open. If you try to do so, you will be punished_. _Play nicely with the other children. If you are mean or get into any fights, verbal or physical, you will be punished. On weekdays, you are not allowed to leave the orphanage for any reason unless you get permission first. Usually, if you do leave, an adult will accompany you. The only time you are allowed to leave on a weekday, without specifically asking permission, is if you have school. You, however, are four and therefore do not have to attend any sort of learning facility for another year or two. You will not be leaving under any circumstances on a weekday without an adult. Once you begin school, you may loiter around town after class with any friends you might make, but as soon as you step through those gates, you may not leave again without permission. When you're attending school there will still be a curfew that you must return at and, if you want food, you must be here at mealtimes.

"Now, the curfew is sunset. Once it is dark outside, we lock the gates. You cannot get in unless you ring the bell, and if you are late, ring the bell, and we have to come out and unlock the gates just for you, you will be punished. Breakfast is from 7:30-8:30 always. On weekends, however, we will have some food set up in the dining hall for those who wish to sleep in. Lunch will always be at 12:30, and supper will always be at 7:00 sharp. Lights out is at 10, but feel free to go to sleep any time before then."

She walked off towards the room beyond the archway and Harry went after her into the room. Instead of stopping, she circled around it, talking the whole time. "This, Mr. Evans, is the commons. We have games"–she strode passed a closed cupboard, gesturing at it–"books"–she walked past a few bookshelves filled with many different colored, torn spines–"and that's about it. If you ever leave anything lying around that belongs specifically to you, be aware that someone else might take it for his or her own personal use. Please leave your things in your room, and not around the house." She ambled back out of the room and down the hall to the left of the staircase.

Harry followed her sweeping skirt halfway down the corridor and into another room. This one reminded Harry of the Great Hall, only there were more than four tables, and the room was only a fifth of the size. "This is the mess hall. All meals will be served in here. You may sit wherever you choose; it is not separated by age or gender. Down there"–she pointed to a long counter at the other end of the room with a lengthy metal bar running parallel to it–"is where you'll get your meals. No cutting in line. I don't care if you're friends were saving you a spot because if you do, you will be sent to the end of the line and will not be receiving dessert. There is enough food for everyone, and no excuse for cutting. You will all get your edibles eventually." She turned and marched back out of the room with Harry a few feet behind her, cataloging all the information in his head. Instead of continuing down the hall, Mrs. Cole stopped and pointed to where Harry thought they would have gone.

"The entrance to the kitchen is down there on the left. There is another entrance to it in the mess hall, but that is not for children. The door at the end of this hall is a half door, meaning that the top half can be opened while the bottom half stays closed. Any time during the day when the kitchen is open, so will the top half of the door. If you need something you may knock, wait for someone to notice you, or call for someone. Depending on your need, and how politely you ask, they will most probably grant it. However, children are not allowed in the kitchen _ever_ without permission _and_ adult supervision. If you are found in there, alone, without permission, you _will_ be punished. The doors on the right of the hall are all closets with different sorts of things inside. You are not allowed to rummage through them without permission, and if it comes to our attention that you have, you will be punished."

She walked back down the hall and into the foyer, this time heading up the stairs. They reached the first landing and Mrs. Cole walked around a banister on her right and up another flight. "Wool's has 4 stories plus an attic and a basement. The first, I have already shown you. The other three are only bedrooms. You are not allowed in anybody's room besides your own without permission from the person who resides in that room. If you are found in someone else's room without their knowledge, you will be punished. You will be living on the third floor, room 28. Children aren't allowed in the attic, without permission and supervision, or the basement. Anyone found in either of those places will be punished." They reached the third floor, and Mrs. Cole turned to her right again and walked down a hallway. Each door they passed had a little brass number on it. "Here we are, room 28. Should be easy enough for you to remember since it's all the way at the end."

Harry's room was on the left side of the hallway and there was a window that Harry would have looked out, but Mrs. Cole had already walked into his room. Since his room was a corner-room, he had two curtain-less windows, one on his right, as he entered, and one straight in front of him. "This is your room. Someone will take you out tomorrow to buy some new clothes. Do not expect them to be expensive, and do not expect a lot. Laundry is twice a week, on Sunday and Wednesday. The laundry room is located in the basement and there's a chute down by the kitchens where you'll drop off your dirty clothing. Be sure to have your room number and your name labeled somewhere on your clothes so we know who they belong to and where to return them. Dinner is in an hour. Don't worry about the rest of the staff recognizing you; I'll be sure to inform them of your arrival. If you have any questions, come see me in my office. My living quarters are adjourned to it in case, for some reason, someone needs me during the night. Good day, Mr. Evans." With that, she turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry looked around his room. The bed was in the back left corner, and there was a small dresser next to the door on his left as well. A smaller nightstand stood beside the bed and an old fashioned alarm clock with bells on the top, spotted with rust, rested upon it. The floors, of course, were wooden but unpolished and Harry was afraid to take his shoes off before cleaning it thoroughly. The white walls that surrounded him were better than the grey that coated the rest of the orphanage, but Harry couldn't help wishing that they were blue, green, or even orange. Just something to give the place a bit more spice and distract him from the horror of his day. The bed held one pillow, and the sheets were–Harry gave a humorless laugh. _Grey_. To Harry, the orphanage felt like a prison with all of its rules, regulations, and lack of happy colors. He almost felt bad for the younger Tom Riddle, now that he was experiencing the same thing.

He took the two steps necessary to be in front of his new dresser, and opened the top drawer to see if the furniture held anything of importance. When the drawer was pulled out far enough for him to observe its contents, he was met with empty space and the stench of wet, moldy wood. It was the same for the next four, but the bottom one contained a thick, dark, comforter that, Harry presumed, was to be used in winter since it was too hot in the summer. The air in his room was thick and he desperately wanted to open a window, but he had other things to do first.

Shrugging off his rucksack which, thankfully, had managed to travel back in time with him, Harry quickly stuffed it under the comforter and closed the drawer before Mrs. Cole remembered some other rule or regulation she'd forgotten to tell him. He knew he'd have to find a better hiding spot for it later, but for now, the one he chose would have to suffice. He didn't want any nosey children coming in and getting into all his wizard things after all. It was only his "Potter-luck", probably, that had allowed him to keep his wand along with the other things he held dear (such as his invisibility cloak and the Marauders Map) when he traveled through time. He would have to be careful, though, when he started Hogwarts and keep his schoolbooks out of sight from anyone else since a fair number of them contained material that had yet to be brought into the wizarding world. _Or I could just become the inventor of Wolfsbane._ The corner of Harry's mouth turned up at the notion of Remus having a more pleasant time at Hogwarts.

_When I start at Hogwarts…_

Harry's smile quickly vanished as the thought about attending Hogwarts for a second go-around slipped into his mind and began to depress him. He had made it seem as though he would still be in the past seven years from now when his four-year-old body matured into that of an eleven-year-old version; able to take part in a repeat of his first year at Hogwarts. He originally hadn't planned on even _staying_ in the past long enough for him to reach the age when he'd receive a letter. He still wasn't planning on it but, nonetheless, the treacherous thought had wormed its way into his brain and mingled into his thoughts like it belonged.

No. He wouldn't accept that lying down. He had already lived for the duration of his first through sixth year, and he would not do it again. He refused. Come tomorrow, he'd be gone. He didn't need permission to leave on a weekend and the gate wouldn't be locked. He'd find the Ministry, granted it would be harder from this far away, and from there, contact Dumbledore. His plan was foolproof and there would be no one to stop him. He'd just avoid all law enforcers and he'd be in the clear, so to speak.

Someway, somehow, he would get back home before he turned eleven…again.

For the rest of the afternoon until five minutes before seven, Harry perfected his escape route. It was easy to do since he was on the third floor and he had windows facing in two different directions. He memorized the surrounding rooftops and buildings, committing to memory every gap and space between them that looked small enough for him to get through. When he stopped, it was because he was both bored from staring out the window for nearly three hours and because he hadn't had anything to eat since the previous night when he'd ingested the meager amount provided to him by the Dursley's.

He briskly wandered out of his room and down the stairs to the mess hall. Earlier when Mrs. Cole had graciously given him a tour, there had been no one else around, but now, seeing as how it was just about time for dinner, Harry didn't stop going by children. There were ones that seemed younger than him, and they were together in a group at the top of the stairs, and there were older ones who had taken up root in the foyer, while the oldest-looking ones, who couldn't even really be called children anymore, had claimed the commons and all the couches and chairs it had to offer.

The windowless hallway leading to the dining room was darker thank the rest of the orphanage and already had its electric lights turned on. Harry had noticed during his time in his room that there was no lighting system in it at all, other than the windows, and was intrigued by how he was supposed to do anything when it was dark, before lights out.

He made it to the doorway of the mess hall without any life-altering incidents and was faintly surprised that a line had already started. He thought he would be the only one intelligent enough to wait in line prior to dinner beginning. Amazed but uncaring, he got into place behind a tall girl in a pink dress who was about a foot higher than him.

The long hand on the overlarge clock at the other end of the dining room pointed straight up at the twelve while the shorter hand indicated that the hour was seven. More people began dawdling into the room and the line Harry was in started to move. He followed the slow pace of the people in front of him, feeling the inquisitive eyes of many on his back and picked up a plastic tray, mimicking the girl in front of him. The food plopped onto his tray wasn't much and the lunch staff kept looking at him with poorly concealed pity in their eyes.

_Seems Mrs. Cole stuck to her word and informed the whole staff about me. I wish she didn't; this might make my escape tomorrow harder…_

When a moderate mound of disgust was on his tray, he went to a table in the far back of the room and sat facing the wall, hoping that no one would try and talk to him. He was aware of the covert glances sent his way and heard the curious whispers that seemed to bounce off the walls. If he _had_ been facing the other children, however, then he would have seen a familiar, but very unwelcome face.

Chocolate brown eyes caught sight of an unknown person sitting at the table that had been off-limits to all other orphans, and widened for a moment in bewilderment before narrowing. The little boy must be new. There was no other reason for him to be sitting at Tom's table. No one else ever did, not that he cared. He needed neither friends nor the company of the puerilely ignorant urchins who resided at Wool's. _Well, I'll soon take care of _that_ problem. _Tom wandered over to the non-existent line to receive what little food the orphanage supplied them with, making his way over to the intruder when he was finished.

Harry wiggled around in his infuriatingly rigid chair, not really paying attention to anything anymore, nibbling on his provided, soggy, noodles, when a tray was set down across him. Thinking he had been giving off a very good Don't-talk-to-me vibe, he blinked at it, disoriented, and stared up to see whom the owner of such an obtrusion would be, getting the shock of his life in the process. Literally.

_How is it that he _always_ seems to find me? I mean, seriously, did he put some sort of untraceable tracking spell on me when I wasn't paying attention?_

He had known, of course, that this was the orphanage where Voldemort had grown up, but Harry had not expected to see him so soon; or so small. Truthfully, he hadn't been planning of crossing paths with the young Dark Lord at all, if he could help it, while he was in the past. It seemed too Twilight Zone, even for him, and he really wanted to beat the boy to a pulp for murdering his parents in the future, but he was unsure about the punishments Mrs. Cole had talked about and felt like the best course of action would be to ignore Voldemort instead of facing the possibility of being locked in his room and extending his stay at Wool's. However, the young psychopath paid him no mind, sitting down as if Harry wasn't there and starting in on his meal. He hadn't introduced himself, hadn't asked for Harry's name, and was beginning to create a rather edgy silence with his unwillingness to talk or interact with the younger boy.

Harry's hand twitched spasmodically under the table. He didn't need Voldemort making nice with him, he didn't want the young Dark lord snubbing him either; there was no reason for it. They hadn't, in this time period, said anything to each other yet, so the only conclusive reason Harry could come up with for Voldemort's hostility towards him was that, even as a child, Voldemort was a prick. He'd sworn to himself when the young Dark Lord claimed a seat that he wouldn't talk to him, but that didn't mean Voldemort could ignore him too! It wasn't fair. Fate must really have it in for him…

And then Harry was hit with an epiphany for the second time that day.

What if fate had sent him back in time to befriend Voldemort? What if the real purpose behind his botched spell was to befriend this lonely little boy and lead him down a different path of flowers and candy instead of bloodlust and hurt? But could he do it? Could Harry really become friends with the murderer of so many, including his parents?

Harry stealthily glanced across the tabletop at the boy in front of him. He wasn't Voldemort, not yet, at least. Dumbledore had shown Harry the memories of Voldemort's life over the course of his sixth year, so he was fairly sure that he'd be able to recognize it if Tom (for that was how Harry would have to know Voldemort now) was going down the wrong path. And if that ever happened, Harry would just have to take him out. It would be best for the world it Voldemort never came to be. It wasn't like his existence would be erased if Voldemort died young. The only significant change in Harry's life would be him growing up with parents, and who could complain about that? The possibility of hope was there, and Harry would have to try for it; his hero complex nagged at him to.

"Hi, my name's Harry Evans. What's yours?"

Tom stayed silent, not acknowledging the other and hoping that his point was being driven across. He didn't like the other children here; they were all cruel. He despised this place with a passion and didn't want any unnecessary ties to the orphanage that might bring happy memories if he ever thought back on it in the future. How else would he be able to burn it down without feeling any qualms?

Annoyed that he was being ignored and probably thought less of than an ant, Harry tried again, a little louder. "Hi, my name's–"

"I heard you the first time, no need to shout," Tom grumblingly interrupted.

"Then why didn't you answer?"

"I didn't want to waste my time with silly things like introductions."

"But you're doing it now," Harry snidely pointed out, not liking Tom's attitude at all. Why couldn't he act like a cute child for once?

Outraged at himself for being dragged into a conversation, no matter how small, Tom clamped his lips shut again, only opening them to hastily shove food into his mouth.

Now a little more than pissed off at the other boy, Harry scowled down at his dinner. "I don't see why you wouldn't want to waste your breath," he tried for a third time. "It's not like you have any friends anyway. Maybe if you didn't act so pompous, more people would like you."

"How would you know if I have friends or not? You're new here; you know nothing."

"It's obvious you have no friends, or you wouldn't be sitting here, alone, with me," Harry pointed out, proud that he'd seemed to hit a nerve when Tom's body stiffened.

"Maybe if you weren't an insignificant worm–an unwanted speck on society–then your parents might have actually _wanted_ you instead of leaving you in this godforsaken hellhole," Tom sneered back. Sure, it wasn't his _best_ comeback, but he just wanted to get under the other boy's skin, and how good does a retort need to be when your trying to insult a toddler?

Having had enough of Tom's jerkish attitude, Harry scooped up all his noodles onto his fork and flung them into the other boy's face, making contact with a very wet _splat_. He couldn't stop himself from laughing as Tom spazzed out and frantically clutched at the dripping pasta. Harry's sides began to hurt and as he tried to clutch at them, his own face was bombarded with spaghetti. Since his mouth was open, a fair number of the noodles made there way inside and he choked on them. He stuck a finger down his throat and hooked it around a larger glob of the food, pulling it out as Tom smirked evilly from his seat.

_That'll teach him to mess with me._

"_BOYS!"_

Tom's smirk melted away and was replaced with a look of cool indifference as Mrs. Cole came storming over to their table. Harry was still hacking up his dinner, but could tell, even without seeing her, that he was in a great deal of trouble.

"Come with me, _at once_!" Mrs. Cole marched Harry and Tom out of a silent cafeteria and through the first floor of Wool's and into her office. "_Sit,"_ she trilled at them and they simultaneously fell into the two chairs provided as Mrs. Cole angrily paced behind her chair.

"Mr. Evans, this is your _first_ day here–no, you haven't even been here _half _a day and yet you managed to find yourself in trouble. And _you_, Tom," Mrs. Cole's face was turning an ugly shade of purple as it twisted in disgusted outrage, "_you_ should know better. You were _born_ here, your mother–you should _know_ the rules. _No fighting with other children EVER!"_ Mrs. Cole slammed her hand down on the desk to emphasize her point. "The number of times you've been in my office–your folder is the thickest one, Tom, and every time it's the same story. Fighting. Well, no more! I've had it with your misconduct! This is your last warning, Tom. One more thing from you and I'll throw you in the broom closet for the day, I don't know what else to do with you, _do I make myself clear?_"

Tom pursed his lips together in anger so hard that they turned white. "Yes."

"Yes, _what?"_

"Yes, Mrs. Cole." Harry once again felt a tiny pang of pity for Voldemort's childhood. _Maybe it would be better just to kill him, put him out of his misery early on._

"Don't think you're getting out of this one easy, Mr. Evans," Mrs. Cole snapped, her beady eyes misreading empathy as satisfaction. "I believe I told you earlier today how liars go to Hell, did I not?"

"You did, Mrs. Cole."

"Well, acts of violence earn you a one-way ticket there too. So help me, God, if I have to take you ten blocks to the church every day to be cleansed of your sins then I will, you can count on that. Now, as for your punishments, I think it would be best if neither one of you is allowed out tomorrow–except when Martha takes you to get your things, Mr. Evans."

Harry wished he had the eyes of a basilisk so he could kill Mrs. Cole where she stood. He liked the head matron less and less, the more time he spent in her company.

Mrs. Cole sighed in what she probably thought was a sympathetic fashion, but what it really seemed to be, to Harry, was condescending. "I don't like to punish you boys', but I need to whip you into shape–teach you how to function in society. Tom, you'll be starting school soon and we can't have you kicked out for violence, and Harry, if lying or violence becomes a habit with you, you'll never be able to live a truly happy life. I'm letting you both off easy this time; I hope you know. You're neighbors, and unhappy neighbors leads to an unhappy life. Now, I want you both to shake hands and apologize to each other."

Harry and Tom reluctantly did as they were told and Mrs. Cole smiled. "See how easy that was? Now, for the rest of dinner, you both are to sit on the chairs outside my office. I'll come and get you when I think a good enough period of time has passed."

"But what about the rest of _our_ dinner?" Tom inquired angrily. He wouldn't be able to wander around the city tomorrow because of the newest brat, but he still wanted to finish his food.

"I'm sorry, dears, but you relinquished your dining privilege for tonight when you flung food at each other. There are a lot of starving people in the world today because of the Depression in America, and I think you should learn how it feels to go hungry. Maybe then you'll appreciate your food more."

"I appreciate my food just fine–"

"Do. Not. Argue. With. Me. _Tom_, my decision is _final_. Go sit outside and wait for me to return. You're lucky I'm letting you two talk with each other and not forcing you to stay there in silence. Out. Go."

Harry trudged out of the office, extremely angry with both himself and Mrs. Cole, who quickly left the boys' so she could resume eating. He was seventeen for Merlin's sake! He should be able to better control his emotions and actions and not be bothered by the words of a bloody–wait, how old was Tom, anyway?

"Tom Riddle."

"Huh?" was Harry's intelligent reply. He'd been so absorbed in berating himself that it took a moment for him to realize Tom was speaking to him.

Tom rolled his eyes, unsure of why exactly he was engaging in anything with Harry after the episode in the mess hall. "My name. You asked what it was. It's Tom Riddle."

Excited that his plan was getting back on track, Harry sent his best smile Tom's way. "I like that name." He bit his lip, still smiling, in an attempt to exude innocent cuteness. "It sounds mysterious, like a puzzle."

Tom raised his eyebrows. Maybe Harry really was an idiot. How was "Tom" like a puzzle in any way?

Harry, meanwhile, was banging his head against a mental wall. _'It sounds mysterious, like a _puzzle_'? Sweet Merlin could I not have come up with a_ stupider_ line?_ He was surprised out of his self-inflicted mental damage by a snort that echoed off the walls of the otherwise noiseless hall.

"No one's ever said _that_ to me before." _They call me other things._

"Well, I've never had anyone to say that to before." And Harry was now in the lead with two stupid rejoinders. He felt like going back to banging his head against an imaginary wall, but refrained, chancing that mini Dark Lords didn't hold intellectual capacity as a desirable quality among friends. _But it's not like he has the brightest bunch of followers when he's older either._

"I'd expect not, you're still a child and I doubt you've met too many people in your lifetime so far."

"Hey! I'll have you know I'm se-four!"

Tom smiled superiorly at Harry. "And I'm five, making me the older, the more competent, and the leader."

"Pft, leader of what? I didn't exactly see a following of worshipers behind you at dinner."

"You're my follower."

"No!" Harry shouted, not out of anger, but to get his point across. "I'm no ones minion. Never, ever, never!" It scared him, a bit, how easily he portrayed the personality of a child. Tom looked half-vexed, half-amused by Harry's tantrum.

"Fine, if not a follower, then you can be a partner."

"I won't–what?"

"You really need to clean out your ears. Or do you have an infection that causes you to lose your hearing at random intervals of time? I said you could be my partner. That means you don't have to do _everything_ I say, but you better have a good reason not to."

"Isn't that the same as being a follower?"

"No, because you have a choice."

"Well, why would I even want to follow you to begin with? What are you commanding? I really have no clue what you're going on about…can't we just be friends?"

Tom tilted his head back ant looked at the shadows cast by the faux lighting on the ceiling. "I've never had a friend before. Friends are complications. And they're bothersome. And they tell you things you don't want to hear and do things you don't want them to without asking."

"I threw noodles at you, and I don't think you wanted me to do that…or did you? Did you want to take a bath in pasta, 'cause we can go back and steal everyone else's noodles, fill a bathtub, and throw you in. I don't mind."

"Oh, no. We _couldn't_. You heard Mrs. Cole." Tom raised his voice and did an uncannily superb imitation of the head matron. "_There are other people in the world who are much hungrier than you, so obviously you children can go without dinner. What? Me? No, I need the calories to keep me going. I'm middle-aged and unmarried, so I need the meat to keep my hair luscious and shiny, but you two are developing children. A bit of starvation won't hurt you."_

The impersonation was so out of character and unexpected that Harry burst out into giggles. Never in a million year would he have thought Voldemort would imitate someone, let alone a female.

_But he's not Voldemort._

"Fine, I won't bathe you in pasta…tonight. But it will happen someday, count on it!"

"Oh, I'll be waiting," Tom said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But why does Mrs. Cole think we're neighbors?"

"Maybe we're in adjoining rooms?" Harry suggested, kicking his legs back and forth. It was uncomfortable to leave them dangling when they didn't reach the floor; he felt like he had to do something with them or he'd go insane. "I'm in twenty-eight."

"And I'm in twenty-seven. Figures we'd be sleeping so close to each other after the incident in the mess hall. I guess this means we have to be friends for fear of the other coming in in the middle of the night and doing something horrendous while we sleep."

"But what if I don't want to have anything to do with you after the way you treated me?" Harry reasoned, not really meaning what he said, but trying to gauge Tom's reaction and see if the boy meant what he said.

"Then you wouldn't have carried on the conversation this far. No one feels obligated to talk to me, you shouldn't either. Besides, I didn't specify that it would be _you_ sneaking into _my_ room at night."

"Why doesn't anyone talk to you? Are you too shy to start a discussion with them? And of course it would be me. You don't have the guts," Harry half-teased, knowing there was a good chance he was wrong.

Tom didn't answer, scuffing the toes of his dirty shoes against the ground. The other children, for some unfathomable reason, had never been fond of him, and he had no clue why. As far as he knew, he hadn't done something irreversibly wrong to them, yet the older kids continuously picked on him with the younger ones following their example. It wasn't until the beginning of summer when it stopped, and only then because Tom struck back, and hard.

He'd been playing, alone, at the park when it happened. It was the day after school had let out for the other orphans and they were all crowding around the jungle gym. Elliot was the leader of the pack, the instigator. He'd sauntered up to Tom as if he owned the world and began pushing Tom's crouched body with his muddy shoe, ordering the younger boy to lick it clean. And Tom, unable to take it anymore, snapped. Elliot's ankle, that is. With the bigger boy on the ground, clutching his ankle in fetal position. Tom basked in short lived glory. Two of the bully's friends came running over to see if he was okay, while a whole herd of orphans ran off to tell Mrs. Cole what had transpired.

Tom hadn't been allowed to leave his room for a week, not even for meals. He was locked in and every four hours someone came by to escort him to the lavatory. Meals were brought to his room on a tray, no dessert included. It was ironic, he thought, that the other children could patronize and tease him all they wanted but when they pushed too far and he struck back, he was the one under lock and key.

"Fine, don't tell me why no one talks to you. But how are we going to form the bond of trust necessary in all good friendships if you keep things from me?" Harry whined.

_Friendship…_ Tom no longer felt the need for a friend. It had left him long ago, before he could remember what it felt like to yearn for a person to share good times with. But as Harry sat across from him, complaining and berating him for his apathetic and secretive attitude, he couldn't stop the smile that formed on his face.

"And you can't–whoa! Are you–are you _smiling_?" Harry had never seen that type of expression on Voldemort; all the Dark Lord's smiles had been maniacal and full of the promise of a painful death, but this innocent upturn of the lips had never before appeared while Harry was present. He couldn't help the faint blush that flitted across his cheeks at the sight, nor the funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he chose to ignore them both and regain his dignity by turning away and sticking his nose in the air. "That's creepy, stop it."

Tom chuckled, an act that set Harry off on another tirade, and leaned back in his chair, taking all the verbal abuse with amused grandeur.

Yes, he could get used to this; this thing called friendship.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **okay, here's thew next chapter. it's quite a bit later than i actually wanted/meant to post it, so i'm _really_ sorry about that. i also apologize in advance for any strange or abnormal things you may find in these coming chapters. i tried.:P

* * *

><p>"<em>Life is a series of rooms, and who we get stuck in these rooms with shapes who we become in life" <em>-Anonymous

Harry awoke the next morning to the annoying drone of his alarm at exactly 7:30 in the morning. It took him a moment to gather up the energy needed to fuel the necessary motor skills in order to shut the inconvenience off, and when all was quiet again, he pulled the sheets over his head and cocooned himself within them. Last night, after Mrs. Cole had come back to inform Tom and him that their "time-out" was over, Tom, having somehow warmed up to him during their punishment (not that Harry wasn't grateful that the other boy had begun to like him; he was sure he'd been making an arse out of himself), had taken it upon himself to show Harry where the bathrooms were, something Mrs. Cole had forgotten to do. Each bathroom was, apparently, right across from the stairs at the top of each floor. They were segregated by gender and the boys' bathroom, at least, had another dividing wall for the shower cubicles. When Harry saw that the showers weren't all clumped together in a large space with no privacy, he was very relieved. He didn't want other boys looking at his naked body, which he knew they would because people just seemed to glance at each others bodies when they were naked, wet, and in a shower together, whether they wanted to or not.

It was also Tom who had, the night before, shown Harry how to use the alarm function on his clock and Harry was, again, indebted to Tom's second random bout of kindness. It was weird, though, how the other kids stared at them when they were together. Harry had noticed it when Tom was showing him the bathroom. They had looked intrigued by his presence, but quickly averted their fear-filled eyes from Tom. Even the older students were more cautious around the young Dark Lord. It made Harry wonder what the five year old had done to warrant this kind of behavior.

Harry stretched his body out, exposing his feet from under the sheets, and rolled over in a fruitless attempt to become unconscious once again as a sharp knock sounded at his door. He peeked open an eye as it swung open to reveal Mrs. Cole and another lady Harry hadn't seen the previous night.

"Oh good, you're up." Mrs. Cole said briskly. "This is Martha. She'll be taking you out to buy you're clothes. Ordinarily I wouldn't be here, but I have a few things that I forgot to give you the other day. Here. Your towel–don't lose it you won't get another–, your toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo and a comb. Here's a pen, write your last name on them. I really must stress to you not to lose anything. New toothpaste will be given to you when your tube runs out, same with shampoo. You need the empty tube, or bottle as proof that you really do need it and aren't just wasting my or my staff's time. You'd be surprised as to what children have done in the past.. New toothbrushes will be given out twice a year and soap will be given out when you run out. Please show us the small amount you have left before using it up so we can give you more. Towels and combs, however, will not be replaced unless they are broken. Eat some breakfast before you leave. Good day, Martha, Mr. Evans." Mrs. Cole left the room but didn't close the door.

Harry blearily blinked at the empty spot where Mrs. Cole had been standing and turned his attention to Martha. She seemed like a pleasant lady in her early thirties; blue eyes and long blonde hair braided down her back. She was a bit on the plump side and reminded Harry of a yodeler. She was nothing like the skinny Mrs. Cole with her sharp black eyes and peppered grey-brown hair. "Alright, love, you heard Mrs. Cole. Lets get you some munchies before we head out, hmmm?" She left the room, but waited in the hall for Harry. He put his name on everything, like Mrs. Cole suggested before following her out and closing the door.

They got to the top of the stairs and Harry told Martha that he would meet her in the mess hall. She nodded and went down the stairs while Harry popped into the bathroom to relieve himself. He felt odd as he was urinating, holding his new, small appendage in his hand when he had been used to something much larger for years. He sighed, flushed the toilet and washed his hands before going down to join Martha.

The orphanage didn't have a cooling or heating system and Harry could already feel the sticky August heat squeezing into the building from any available open space. The stairs creaked under his light weight as his little legs took them on one at a time. He didn't pass anyone on the way down and was surprised by the continued absence of children when he got to the mess hall. Then he remembered that it was a weekend and that it didn't matter what time the other kids got up because there would be food in the hall until lunch was over. He wandered over to the untended counter where someone had left oatmeal out in a sizable pot for people to consume. Harry grimaced at the food but scooped some up and put it in his plastic bowl anyway. The only other inhabitant of the room was Martha, who had seated herself at a table in the middle. He walked over and sat down across from her since it would have been rude of him to try and find another place to sit, especially when she was the one who was taking him out shopping for clothes and Harry really didn't want to deal with the awkward atmosphere that would be hanging around them if he chose a different table to eat at.

Harry ate the slimy food in silence since Martha didn't try talking to him, and he didn't strike up a conversation with her.

When they both had finished, Martha took their dishes to a tub at the end of the counter opposite to where the clean dishes were waiting to be used. "Let's go." Harry followed her out of the room, back down the hall and out the door. It was already quite hot outside, even though it was only around 8 in the morning, but the fresh air was more welcome than the stuffy counterpart that lurked inside Wool's. Martha didn't bother locking the door behind her as she took off at a brisk pace down the dirt path. She reached the gates at the front and pulled an ancient key from the pocket of her skirt. The key was the same charcoal grey as the gates but lacked their oxidized image. Harry winced at the piercing squeak when Martha pushed them open, indicating that they were in need of a good oiling.

"Hold my hand, dear, so you don't get lost."

Harry mentally scoffed. Now _they start treating me like a child? _He held up his small hand and it was lost in Martha's larger one.

Tom didn't seem as bad as Harry had initially thought he would be, but, then again, Harry _had_ only just met him last night. The other kids in the orphanage seemed weary of Tom for some reason and he was only five. It wasn't normal. To Harry, it was obvious that Tom had done _something_ to vindicate the looks sent his way, but from the way Tom had acted towards him, he couldn't seem to figure out what it was. _I'll just have to keep him under close scrutiny for a while, then, to see where the demon in Tom is hiding._

At the corner, they turned right and Harry caught his first glimpse of the park Mrs. Cole had told him about. It undoubtedly wasn't as elaborately constructed as the play structures of 1997; the swing set, the jungle gym made up of monkey bars various heights off the ground, the small play structure, and the slide were all made of metal but not painted over. Two wooden teeter-totters were off to the side of the single slide and a medium sized field surrounded the sandbox where everything was placed. Even though the park, being made of all metal, would be hell to play on in the summer, Harry felt that it was a million times better than the crunchy brown grass Wool's supplied.

Martha and he continued on their walk, passing many townhouses along the way. All of them were made of bricks and painted over in different colors. The rainbow of homes each had a small, fenced in, twelve-by-twelve yard in the front with mostly green grass and patches of yellow and brown blending in with the short blades. Some houses boasted vibrant flower gardens and one even had an orange tree about a foot higher than Harry was. He still didn't talk to Martha and their mutual silence continued three more blocks into the minor downtown district. Some shops were just as bland as Wool's, but other owners had taken time to paint polychromatic signs over their doors and create enticing displays in their windows. However, the muggle street still couldn't hold a candle to Diagon Alley. _God__ I miss magic, _Harry groaned in his head. At least magic made things more exciting.

Martha led Harry into one of the smaller shops that had an uninviting exterior but a well put together display of second-hand clothing in the window. As Martha opened the door, the top corner brushed passed a small bell that let out a tinkling sound, alerting the clerk that potential customers had arrived. The inside of the store was actually much larger than it's deceiving semblance. Unfortunately, the amount of clothing that had been stuffed into the cavernous space caused the interior to become a cramped and twisted maze of clothing racks and bins.

Martha closed the door and let go of Harry's, now sweaty, palm in order to pull a miniature sheet of paper out of her skirt pocket. "Right, then," her eyes trailed down the sheet, squinting as she listed off items written there, "You'll be needing a coat, two pairs of shorts, three pairs of pants, a few button up shirts, a vest, a tie, some socks, and some underclothes. Depending on what you choose, and if there's enough money left, you may get more things that aren't listed here." She lifted her azure eyes from the paper and handed it to Harry. "Well go on then. Pick out what you like. You don't need me to help, do you?"

Harry shook his head and went off to explore the store. The hardwood floor had a thin layer of dust and Harry could just barely discern dainty trails of footprints leading every which way through the labyrinth of clothes. Even though the shop only had second and–Harry was sure–third hand clothing, some of it was unquestionably in better condition than others, like the rack with pairs of silk breeches mixed in with frayed cotton pants and wool overalls. Harry refused to select anything that was coming apart at the seams, but he didn't want to strut around in silk clothing either. It would be an extreme waste of all his spending money in addition to making himself look stuck up in regards to the other orphans' perception of him, so he continued on into the store in search of cheaper–but not too cheap–clothing.

All of the supplied bottoms seemed to come in the same colors: brown, light grey, forest green, normal grey, black, navy blue, and charcoal grey. Harry thought there might be a slim chance that more colors to choose from were hidden away in the store, but he didn't want to go on a treasure hunt looking for them. He ended up picking one pair of brown shorts and one of light grey, one brown pair of pants, one of navy blue, and one charcoal grey pair. After he had made quite sure that they fit and were three sizes too big, so he wouldn't have to come back and spend his money for a while, he went off in search of shirts. When he was satisfied with his those, he went over to a large bin located in the back left corner of the store that had socks. It took longer for him to pick out socks because he had to fish through the whole container in order to find ones that matched. It was a tedious process and it made Harry exasperated with the system the store employed. Everything he ended up choosing was plain and easily made him an unnoticeable being. He didn't want to stick out at Wool's and be picked on for his colorful assortment of clothing.

Finding the last few items on his list went by decades faster than his sock-search and he ended up getting a grey vest and a green tie. Since he was feeling daring and exuberant after speedily attaining his outerwear, he got his underwear in scarlet, emerald, sapphire, and onyx. The last thing on his list, a coat, ironically ended up taking the most time. There were even more coats to choose from than there were pairs of socks and Harry wanted to make sure he got a good one since he didn't think that the clothes he'd already picked out would keep him very warm when the winter months came blowing in. In the end, he chose a simple double-breasted black pea coat with shiny plastic buttons.

When Harry was done perusing the shop and trying on clothes, he went back to the front to try and find Martha so she could pay for his items. His quest for the woman ended prematurely when, after pushing through a tight space between two racks of kilts, he spotted her at the front counter gossiping with the cashier. When Martha saw Harry, her smile stretched out further causing its nature to lose its genuine impression. "All done then, eh? Let's see what you got." Harry handed his findings and she rapidly sifted through them nodding her head the whole time. "They all fit right?"

"Yep."

"Okay. Ring these up for me, will you, Darla?" Darla, the brunette cashier with a short bob, nodded her head and went about tallying up the cost.

"That'll be about 10 pounds."

Martha grinned down at Harry. "Excellent. Your limit was 15 pounds, love, so if there's anything else you'd like from in this store, you can get it." Harry nodded before receding back into the jungle of habiliments. It might be the middle of summer now but he didn't want to be unprepared for the coming winter, and he highly doubted that the orphanage would give him a scarf and ear-muffs if he told them he was cold, so that's what he got. He picked out a warm-looking knit scarf, a pair of mittens, a beanie, and a pair of earmuffs; all grey of course. He also picked out a brown messenger bag made from a soft fabric for when he would be forced to attend muggle school and found a matching set of an over-sized green pajama top and bottom. Harry could roll up the sleeves and legs so he wouldn't trip, but he found it strange that Mrs. Cole hadn't required him to attain some when she wrote out the list. He brought his newfound things back to Martha and she gave them to Darla, who rang them all up. The total amount came out to fourteen pounds, two shillings, and eight pence.

Darla handed Martha the change, since the caregiver had paid only in pounds, and folded all of Harry's clothes in order to place them into two huge brown paper bags. "Have a nice day," she called after Harry and Martha as they left the shop. When they were back on the street, Martha grasped Harry's free hand again and proceeded to half-drag him back to the orphanage. The shopping trip had taken longer than Harry had expected and it was after lunch by the time it was over. More people were out on the street and the sun was beating harshly down on the back of his exposed neck from its placement high in the sky. They passed the park again and Harry saw many children romping about on the play structure even though shimmering heat waves were rising from its metal surface. Martha didn't stop to look if any minors from Wool's were enjoying their free time at the playground, simply breezing past the greenery and briskly around the corner in hopes of reaching their destination faster.

When they reached the foyer, Martha let go of Harry's hand. "Alright, now I've got to go help out with the laundry. You take these straight up to your room and write your name on all the tags, got it?" Harry nodded. "Good. See you later, Harry." With that, Martha moved away from Harry and walked down the left hall towards the laundry room.

Harry adjusted his grasp on the bags holding his clothes and began the long trek up two flights of stairs in order to reach his bedroom. When he arrived on the third floor landing, he paused and pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. It was stuffier on the third floor than it was on the first and all he wanted to do was go back to his room, open both the windows, strip down, and lie on top of his bed as a cool, gentle wind tickled his damp skin. It was an ingenious plan, but he didn't know if such a lovely breeze would come just for him.

He rolled his sore shoulders in a half-circle and continued down the dimly lit hall towards his room. He couldn't help but think about how poorly constructed Wool's was as he furrowed his brow to see better. It was midday but barely any light came through to where he was because of the lack of windows in the area.

Harry paused in front of room twenty-seven and glanced up and the brass number nailed to the door, contemplating knocking. It wasn't that he had anything in particular to say to the older boy, no. It was more like…he felt a need to deepen their connection; strengthen their bond of friendship even more before it frizzled out into nothing. It would be difficult for them to remain "best friends" if they never talked to one another and there was no point in remaining at Wool's or even in the past if they became indifferent of one another. It also didn't hurt that Tom seemed to be more intelligent than a regular kindergardener.

_Dumbledore did say he was bright for his age…a genius among geniuses._

Making up his mind, he knocked twice and waited for Tom to open the door, figuring that the older boy would be there since they had been banned from leaving the orphanage that day. As predicted, it wasn't a long wait. Almost 5 seconds after he knocked, the door was opened to reveal a suspicious Tom.

"What?" he asked, eyeing Harry up and down and not opening the door more than just to let his head slip through.

Harry smiled. "Hey, Tom, I just got back from my shopping. Martha took me out early this morning so I didn't really have a chance to say hi to you before then. You're not angry at me, are you?" he finished with a small pout.

Tom's wary mien instantly morphed into stupefaction at Harry's display of simplicity. "Um, no, I'm not angry. Why would I be?" He quickly regained his composure and smirked. "Show me what you got." Tom stepped out of his room and closed the door.

Harry's pout modified itself into a grin and he led to his room next door. He pushed open the door and skipped over to his bed. Tom closed the door behind him and Harry turned both his bags over so that their contents could freely spill out over his sheets. Tom took five steps in to cross the room and began rifling through Harry's things. "I see they gave you the usual fifteen pound limit, huh?" Harry nodded and made a small noise of acknowledgment. He was too preoccupied with writing his name and room number on the tags of his clothes to pay any real attention to what Tom was saying, and because of that, Tom swatted the back of his head. It wasn't powerful enough to leave a bruise, but the hit left a subsequent tingling sensation on his scalp anyhow.

"Ouch!" Harry dropped the pen into his lap and rubbed his skull where Tom's hand had connected, overdramatizing his response. "What was that for?"

"Oh, you mean you _didn't_ hear me? I asked if I could hit you, and you simply nodded your approval." Harry glared at Tom's smug expression.

"Don't lie to me," Harry snapped, "Just because I didn't answer you with words doesn't mean I wasn't listening. I know what you said and you most definitely did _not_ ask if you could smack me!"

"It's not my fault if you have a pestiferous brain."

"A _what_?" Harry had never heard the word before in his life and was amazed to hear it come from Tom's mouth.

"Pestiferous: to harbor infection and disease," Tom quoted as if a dictionary was sitting in front of him. "In your case, Harry, we're speaking of Alzheimer's since you can't seem to remember me asking if I could clout you." Tom paused and brought a finger to his chin. "Or maybe it's a problem with your hearing. Glue ear, perhaps." Tom stared at a fuming Harry with mock concern showing in his eyes. "Should we take you to a doctor?"

"It's _you_ who'll be needing a doctor when I'm through with you, _Tom,_" Harry growled, tossing his pen to the side.

"I'd love to see you try, _Harry_." No additional taunting was needed to provoke Harry into jumping up and chasing Tom out of his room, down the hall, and out the building into the yard. It was the beginning of a truly odd, friendship.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

The rest of August passed quickly and Harry and Tom were able to deepen their friendship, something Harry was very proud of. He had yet to observe anything from Tom that warranted the behavior of the other children, but he didn't stop looking out for it. He'd come to know Tom as sarcastic and occasionally funny, but really good company, which, Harry couldn't deny, surprised him.

Sadly, Tom would be going off to kindergarten tomorrow and Harry would spend every day alone at Wool's with the select few other children who were too young to attend primary school. Harry knew that in order to entertain himself he'd have to play the simplistic games created by their underdeveloped minds. He'd live through it, but not for a whole school day, and by the end of it he'd be craving something with more content to feed his hungry mind or, simply, drop dead from boredom. He tried explaining this to Tom but the other boy merely brushed it away with a scoff, saying that dying of boredom was impossible. However, Tom did understand that Harry was more quick-witted than the other toddlers, so he proposed that they go on an outing in search of a public library, considering that they both had already plowed through Wool's meager collection of reading material. The only problem with that tactic was that the library was in central London and Harry highly doubted that any adult working at the orphanage would be willing to take either Tom or him there. But Tom had a solution to that problem as well; Sunday. The last day of August providentially fell on a Sunday, one of the two days they were allowed out to go visit the park. Harry knew that no adults ever came out into the swaggering heat to go around the corner and keep an eye on the orphans, so it was a good plan. Risky, but good.

That was how Harry found himself strolling about, with Tom, in the middle of London looking for a library after spending fifteen minutes on a bus. Tom had asked the driver about the building's location before exiting the vehicle and Harry was now searching for a four-story, white, rounded building with high windows and columns positioned around the first level. Unfortunately, the man didn't remember the actual name of the library, only a description of what it looked like and the general direction of where it was. That didn't deter Tom though. He was determined to get books for both himself and Harry.

"There!"

Tom's shout prompted Harry to swivel around and follow Tom's extended arm with his eyes to a majestic structure across the street that forced him to squint as the sun reflected off it's gleaming white coat of paint. "Let's go!" Tom grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him across the road to the base of a short marble staircase leading up to the front doors. Tom ceased his jog only for a second, taking in the towering building in front of him, before dashing up the steps and through the dark, wooden doors at the top. Harry went after him at a slower pace but still nearly ran into the other boy when he ultimately made it indoors. Tom had frozen just beyond the threshold and was staring, slack-jawed with his eyes popping out, at the mammoth collection of books resting on hundreds of shelves. The expression was so comical and completely un-Tom that Harry couldn't help the small snort of laughter that escaped his body.

"Where should we look first?" Harry's query startled Tom out of his book-induced daze.

"Well, I want to look in the science section," Tom said slowly, "And you wanted fairytales. Should we split up?"

Harry scrunched up his nose in confusion. "Why would you want books about science?"

"I like to know why things work," Tom answered with an uncaring shrug. "How do you think I know about so many things? I read the Life magazines every time I'm taken to the doctor's for a check up."

"And you understand it?" Harry asked, astounded.

"No, there are words in there I've obviously never heard used at the orphanage, due to our caretakers low intelligence. But I take the magazines in with me to see the doctor and I ask him any questions I have."

Harry shook his head, smiling slightly. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"Of course I am," Tom said pompously with an elaborate flourish of his hand. "No mere mortal could accomplish the things I have."

Harry rolled his eyes at Tom's display. "Whatever, tom. I'll just go get a few fictional books and then meet up with you in the science division."

"That sounds good." Tom turned and looked over his shoulder at Harry. "See you in a bit then, yeah?" Harry's head bobbed up and down and Tom smirked. "Just don't get lost." He turned back around, but didn't miss the scowl Harry sent his way.

"I hate you sometimes," Harry mumbled, not really meaning it, but Tom was already out of hearing-range. Harry smiled faintly at his friend's retreating back and set off to find the fiction section. It took a while, but he finally found that portion of the library and began checking the spines for Greek mythology. He eventually discovered the volumes and couldn't suppress an amused smirk at the picture gracing the cover of one he pulled out. It was a centaur in the middle of a dense forest surrounded by glowing blue, yellow, and pink pixies. In the background there was a small pond and Harry could barely recognize the head of a water nymph peeking through the surface. He then picked out a second tome, this one with a Minotaur standing on the disemboweled bodies of hundreds of muggle men.

Happy with his selections, he strode off to find Tom. During his hunt for the dark-eyed boy, he reflected on how Tom and his relationship had expanded over the preceding month. When he'd first thought of starting up a friendship with Tom Riddle, Harry'd had no idea that he would actually grow to like the young Dark Lord and that real emotions would come out of it. He'd thought it would just be a fake friendship built on lies but, for some reason Harry couldn't understand, Tom trusted him. The trust Tom placed in Harry and the almost kind way he treated him caused Harry, in turn, to subconsciously place trust in Tom as well. It wasn't the instant bond he'd felt with Ron on the Hogwarts Express or the silent agreement that produced his friendship with Hermione. It was slower, and had taken a full month to reach the point it was at now, but was still a budding flower not yet ready to completely blossom and expose it's petals to the dangerous ecosystem outside it's corolla.

It also amazed Harry how he was able to become friends with his parent's murderer, even if he was fifty-eight years younger. This Tom was innocent of homicide, though Harry had once or twice observed malevolence flickering through Tom's eyes when he looked at some of the older orphans. _But it doesn't matter, at least, not to me. We're friends, and I'll continue being his friend until he doesn't want me anymore…or he really starts to transform into Voldemort._

The conviction Harry heard as the first words formed in his head surprised, but didn't stop, him from agreeing with them. Tom had somehow managed to become one of his most treasured friends, and he hoped nothing would ever happen to change that.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

By December, unpigmented snow blanketed most of London, including Wool's Orphanage. Harry sat on his bed with the dark comforter from the bottommost drawer of his dresser pulled tightly around his shivering body. It was ridiculous how cold his room got during this season. During the summer his room was blistering from the heat, but at least he could open one, if not both, of his windows. However, now that the temperature outside was below freezing, having two curtain-less windows only caused his bedroom to be a portal for the glacial temperature to access the rest of the orphanage. Harry would have cried tears of joy for his moment of brilliance when he decided to purchase his warm jacket, but was too scared that they might turn to ice on his cheeks. It was Christmas Eve and he had better things to do than rush off to the bathroom and stick his face under scalding water.

He heard shrieks coming through his window from the other orphans playing in the front yard. At lunchtime, a few of the older ones had declared that they would be having a gigantic snowball fight and anyone else who was interested would be welcome to join in. Harry had wanted to go out and play in the fresh powder, but he wasn't so half-witted that he didn't identify the stunt the senior boys' were trying to pull. As soon as anyone stepped outside, they would be pelted from all sides with a compacted mixture of icy snow and slush.

That, accompanied by a second aim, was why he abstained from exiting the confines of his room and rolling up a snowman in the backyard. He still had to put the finishing touches on his Christmas present for Tom. He hadn't planned on making anything for the boy, and he certainly had no money to purchase a present, but one day as he was watching Martha knit a sweater in the commons, the idea had come to him. For Christmas, Harry was going to give Tom a friendship bracelet. It would be black, silver, and green (Slytherin colors) and made of yarn, but something was always better than nothing. It wasn't like he felt obligated to give Tom a gift either. He simply wanted to.

He'd only recently obtained the strings from Martha's knitting kit while she wasn't looking and it was taking him a while to finish since he'd never really been good in the arts and crafts department. Tom was studying more of the books they'd gotten from their most recent trip to the library in his room and had specifically asked Harry not to bother him for another thirty minutes at least, which meant this was the perfect time for Harry to complete his gift as a whole. The green-eyed boy had complied with Tom's wishes and had gone straight to his room to finalize the bracelet and his very own Hallmark card.

A week before school had let out, Harry had managed to persuade Tom to retrieve some coloring material for him from the kindergarden's stash under the guise that Harry was bored and the books weren't always doing it for him. It had been a real hassle for him with Tom's constant interrogation over the matter, not believing Harry for a minute, but the boy had done it anyway. They were, after all, friends.

When he finally finished the bracelet he couldn't help but swell with pride about how good it looked. He checked the tarnished clock on his bedside stand to confirm if Tom had completed his homework and would be ready to entertain him, noting there were three minutes to go; just enough time for him to clean up and make a mad dash through the freezing air to the neighboring room.

Harry unraveled himself from the warm den he'd constructed atop his bed out of what little blankets the orphanage provided. The chilly floorboards generated a minuscule prickly sense to travel down the soles of his covered feet when he stood and a shiver zipped up his spine. His room might be cold now, but frigid afternoon temperature paled in comparison to the gelid wind that would settle during the night. Harry would be ecstatic when spring arrived.

He placed the card and present in the bottom drawer of his dresser and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, warming his muscles for the speedy shuffle that was about to occur. When he was sure he wouldn't get a leg cramp, he dashed to the door and flung it open, pivoting and side stepping to Tom's room, knocking only once before entering anyway without and sound of approval.

Tom made a face as Harry invited himself into the room and clambered onto his bed. He continued to watch the smaller boy as Harry attempted to snuggle under the covers as well.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Harry didn't look at Tom as he replied, "Trying to get warm."

Tom's eyebrow's rose a quarter of an inch. "By sneaking into my bed?"

"It's hardly sneaking," Harry explained. "You're looking at me now, aren't you?"

"That just means you're bad at it," Tom scoffed. "You still came in here without my permission." He narrowed his eyes and smirked at Harry's half-covered form. "Maybe I should inform Mrs. Cole of your misdemeanor. I'm sure she'd take pleasure in any punishment brought down on you."

"As if you'd ever do something like that." Harry propped himself up on his elbows. "If I'm penalized, whom will you converse with about your books? I highly doubt you'll get much insight from Martha or anyone else in this boring old place."

Tom reopened the textbook in his lap that he'd been reading when Harry burst into his room. "What makes you think I'd talk to one of those lower-class specimens?"

"Who's lower-class?"

"Anyone who volunteers to spend his or her time here." Tom's upper lip twisted in disgust. "What kind of imbecile would choose to work at an orphanage around the children no one else wants?"

"Just because a select few care enough about us to relinquish their precious life by working here doesn't mean they're inferior," Harry stated quietly.

"Say's you," Tom dismissed, "But we're all entitled to our own opinions." Harry sniffed and let his head fall onto Tom's soft pillow as the other boy went back to scrutinizing the musty novel in front of him. Since there was only one window, it was much warmer in Tom's bedroom than it was in Harry's, which was why the two boys' had spent most of Tom's Christmas holiday in room twenty-seven. Harry still felt a slight chill whenever he exposed his small frame to the air on the other side of the bedding, but the trapped heat his body gave off, as well as the pleasant warmth flowing from Tom's form beside him, resulted in Harry's eyelids becoming heavy and he was lulled into a catnap.

It felt like he was asleep for only a moment before a sharp poke at his ribcage woke him from his dream about broccoli attempting a musical.

"Wake up you twit, it's time for dinner."

Harry groaned and tried to swat the annoying hand away, but Tom only grabbed his fingers and yanked him from his side to his back. Harry let out a yelp as his appendages felt like they were ripped from their sockets. He quickly righted himself on Tom's mattress and tenderly cradled his abused digits.

"That hurt."

"You wouldn't get up. I would have just left you and gone down myself, but they always make better food today and I don't want you to miss out, seeing that this is your first time after all."

Harry frowned, not completely forgiving Tom, but climbed out of bed anyway. "First time for what, exactly?"

Tom rolled his eyes and exited his room, Harry closing the door behind them. "Christmas dinner."

"But it's not Christmas yet–"

"I know. They just like to feed it to us a day early because they don't want to have to do laborious work in the kitchen tomorrow."

"Why not?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Harry attempted to see what Tom was getting at. The only visible reason he could come up with was that the cooks were too lazy to toil in the kitchens on Christmas day. Tom sighed and shook his head in annoyance. "They don't want to come here and see us when they could be spending time with their families."

They continued on in silence but as Tom and he got closer to the mess hall, Harry heard a low rumbling of unidentifiable noise. It was only when he got to the doorway of the dining room that he was able to ascertain the sound. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming. What seemed to be the whole population of Wool's was currently standing in line, waiting for the food to be put out. He turned his head to the left in order to view the timepiece on the wall and saw that there were still five minutes to go before seven o'clock. It was an amazing first for him.

"Is the food really that good?" Harry asked in awe.

"No," Tom said, amusement shining in his eyes, "But it's better than the stuff we normally get. And the portions are somewhat more substantial."

They walked together across the room to stand at the back of the queue of children. Neither talked to the other as the line began to move, and the silence persisted even after they'd picked up trays and had their meal unceremoniously dropped onto them. Harry was the first to reach their special table in the back right corner of the room; unique owing to the fact that none of the other orphans dared venturing over.

Harry poked at the sliced turkey on his plate with his fork, inspecting the meat for any deficiencies it might carry. When he was satisfied that the cooked fowl wouldn't jump off his plate when stabbed, he cut it up and placed a piece in his mouth. It was dry.

Tom chuckled at the face Harry pulled when the texture of his food was discovered.

"I thought you said this would be like ambrosia compared to the bland edibles we normally consume," Harry whined.

"Tch, I only said it would be more suitable than usual. I don't ever recall saying it would be fit for the gods." Tom smirked superiorly. "It's nice to know you actually expanded your vocabulary from those mythology books. I was worried they might just fill your brain with silly fantasies, rotting it."

Harry frowned at the food on his tray ignoring second Tom's comment. The turkey may have been dry, but there were more flavors added to it. Count that along with everything else on his platter and his meal could be considered a small feast as opposed to what he typically ingested.

He ate leisurely with Tom and went to his room by himself without his friend; creating the excuse he was tired. Tom had tried to disprove that theory by bringing up the nap Harry's taken earlier in the afternoon, but the younger boy turned it into evidence supporting him by claiming that it was further proof he needed more sleep. When he arrived in his room, he clambered into his bed and forced himself asleep, only to be woken again at five in the morning by a pre-set alarm.

Harry was excited as he switched off the buzzing coming from his clock. To him, sneaking through the silent orphanage made him feel as though he was a spy in the middle of a James Bond movie. His pajama bottoms provided some protection for his feet against the subzero temperature drifting up from the floor and because he had no desire to gain frostbitten toes, he hurriedly grabbed Tom's Christmas card, present, and tiptoed swiftly out into the dark corridor to Tom's room. He knew that children weren't allowed into any room other than their own without permission from said room's owner, but he was Harry Potter; rule bending was not a new subject for him.

He reached Tom's room and quietly pushed the door open. The old wood groaned as it was forced to move in the cold, but Tom didn't wake up. Harry was in and out like a flash, placing the items on Tom's dresser and closing the door when he left, this time with no extra noise. He swiftly returned to his sleeping quarters and dove back under the covers, curling up into fetal position in order to gain back the warmth lost from his nighttime stroll. The last thought Harry had before drifting off once more was of Tom thanking him and repeatedly assuring Harry that he loved his gift.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Harry sat in the grass, eating the vanilla ice cream Tom had bought for him with some money they'd found in the gutter. It was a lazy summer day and no one seemed to want to move very fast. Harry finished up his cone and fell onto his back with Tom next to him, watching two particularly active children run past them, giggling, probably in the middle of a game of tag. The grass itchy, but neither he nor Tom seemed to mind, each lost in thought.

Tom's school year had already finished and Harry was overjoyed to have his friend back full-time, but he was also worried. He had attended muggle primary school during the 1980's, and was well aware of the impending war looming over Europe's doorstep. The Nazi Party was already in control of most of Germany, Hitler was reigning as Chancellor, and nearly the whole of the German population had already been brainwashed into believing that the Nazi's were truly going to help them instead of fulfilling their own political agenda. He'd already done the math in his head and when Germany invaded Poland, officially starting the Second World War, he would hopefully be enrolled at Hogwarts.

Tom, noticing his friends unease, looked over at Harry and asked, "What are you thinking of right now?"

Harry, not wanting Tom to know or question him about how he knew what was in store for England in the future, replied with a sly smile, "Thinkin' 'bout what you got me for my birthday."

Tom chuckled softly. This was not the first time Harry had tried to weasel the information out of him, but usually he was much more sneaky about it.

"You'll see when the time comes."

Harry pouted. For some reason, whenever he pouted, Tom gave in to whatever silly request Harry made. He didn't know exactly why that was, but he liked to think it had something to do with the cuteness that oozed from him.

"But Toooommyyyyy. That's, like, _two_ whole days from now."

Tom glared at Harry when the disgusting defilation of his name left the boy's lips. He despised the horrid nickname Harry thought up and made sure to let him know it whenever Harry dared utter the word.

Tom's scowl quickly turned into a crafty grin when he thought of the present he'd made for Harry. The depression raging in America had leaked over into other European countries and, because of that, the government wasn't granting the orphanage as much money as it used to. This in turn led to Mrs. Cole hording all the extra cash for herself that she didn't need to spend on food, essentials for the orphans, and wages for her staff. So, Tom decided to give Harry the same thing Harry'd given him on Christmas; a friendship bracelet.

Tom had forced the younger boy into telling him where he'd gotten the strings and had snagged the same colors Harry's used from Martha too. Tom liked the idea that he and Harry would have something linking them together that no one else had. To him, it would show anyone who happened to get a glimpse of both boys' wrists that they were connected and that nothing could tear them apart, but more importantly, it bonded Harry to him. It showed that Harry belonged to him; was owned by him because the emerald-eyed boy would always wear the band around his wrist as a symbol of Tom's ownership. Tom inwardly cackled at the possessive thoughts. Harry was undoubtedly his for life.

Harry ignored the eerie aura engulfing Tom's being and changed his musings into ones that would help him attain more food since the ice cream was gone but his stomach still wasn't full. He lay on his back with his eyes closed and started to rub his abdomen, knowing Tom would get the message and praying he would respond to it.

"How can you still be hungry after eating that ice cream?"

"I'm always hungry. It's not like we ever get completely full at Wool's," Harry retorted, enjoying the balmy rays playing on his exposed eyelids.

"True…"

Harry allowed the silence to continue, choosing not to reply and consequently letting Tom ponder what they would do about the situation. Tom always wanted Harry to be happy, not that the other boy minded. He knew it was very selfish of him, but he liked having someone always trying for him to be happy. It might just be Tom's way of apologizing for having to be in school for nine and a half months, but Harry was fine with that.

He heard the grass rubbing against cloth beside him, so he rolled his head over and cracked open an eye to observe what Tom was doing. The boy in question has stood and was brushing off the seat of his pants. He glanced down at Harry and ordered, "Well, get up."

Harry smiled and sluggishly righted himself but did not make any move to stand.

"What for?"

Tom sighed and crossed his arms over his chest glaring pointedly at the boy situated on the grass.

"You're hungry, aren't you?"

"Yes, but dinner's hours away-"

"So we'll find something elsewhere," Tom interrupted. "Do you want something or not?" Not waiting for an answer, Tom turned away from Harry and quickly walked in the opposite direction from the orphanage. Harry jumped to his feet and jogged in order to catch up to his friend. They exited the park together and crossed the street. They weren't going to the bus stop that would take them into the main shopping district, or the marketplace close by. Harry stayed quiet, curious about their destination, but believing that Tom would acquire the necessary morsels to diminish his hunger.

Tom led Harry into a more suburban area the younger had never been before with one-story houses one either side of the street. He didn't say anything to Harry and continued at a brisk pace, scanning both sides of the road for something Harry couldn't identify.

"There it is," Tom said after they turned a corner, not stopping his attempt to seem casual. Harry, who was next to Tom, looked about to see if he could identify what it was Tom found. No one was out in their front yard selling anything; in fact, no one was outside at all. The street Tom had turned on to was completely deserted.

"I don't see anything."

"That's because you aren't looking," Tom replied in his best know-it-all voice, "Just keep walking and don't stop, no matter what. When you get to the next corner, turn left-"

"Why can't I follow you?"

"Because I'm about to engage in a top-secret mission only I can fulfill. Do what I said, got it?" Harry scowled and didn't answer; he didn't need to. Tom knew he would do what he'd been told without question. Harry trudged down the sidewalk, noticing out of his peripheral that Tom was falling behind. He didn't pause to look back, however, and ambled all the way to the corner, where he turned left and continued walking until he was out of sight from anyone on the previous street.

He waited, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, thinking about what Tom might've been doing, when the other boy hurdled around the bend, arms full of some sort of fruit. He sprinted past Harry who got the message and flew after him until–many twists and turns later–they fell back down on the tickly grass at the playground. Harry's breathing was labored and it took several minutes before he could form a coherent sentence. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tom simply held up one of the five fruits he had obtained and Harry's words rearranged themselves into something entirely different.

"Peaches?" Tom grinned triumphantly and tossed one over to Harry, who caught it and stared at the tasty sunset-colored treat in bewilderment. "But where did you get them?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Tom asked, expression not changing. "Think _really_ hard about the street we were on." Harry did, scrunching up his face in concentration. There were some cars parked on the curb of the other side of the street and none of the houses went above a single story–something that couldn't be held true for the other homes in the neighborhood. All the grass in the front yards was well-watered and many boasted pastel flowers along the walkway leading up to the front door. One house had a pond in the front, and two more had trees–

Harry's eyes widened behind his round glasses as he realized what Tom had done.

"You stole them?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "So; you've stolen before. It would be hypocritical of you to tell me what I did was wrong. I only took five, whoever lives there won't even notice they're gone."

"I know, but what I took was string. This is food–"

"It's the same no matter what it is that's been stolen. A thief is a thief whether he steals a blanket to keep his family warm or a diamond necklace from the Queen. No one cares about the reason the thief had for breaking the law, they just care that he did. Be grateful that I managed to get some more food."

While Tom was ranting, Harry couldn't help but smilie. "I never said I wasn't grateful." To prove his point he bit into the peach he held and let the juice dribble down his chin, leaving a sticky trail in its wake.

"That's revolting, I'll have you know," Tom stated as he watched the drops of nectar slither down Harry's face.

"You're just jealous that I'm lavishing myself in this delightful treat while you sit there in the hot sun doing nothing to cool yourself down," Harry teased. Tom glowered at the boy and snatched up a peach of his own, biting in to the fuzzy skin. Harry giggled as fluid erupted down Tom, wishing that he never had to return to the future and could just stay in this happy time forever.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Harry was speaking animatedly with Tom as they walked to school. Harry had just started third grade and Tom was in fourth. Like the orphanage children, their schoolmates stayed away from them, allowing the two boys' to play alone. Neither minded, choosing the small school library as their base of operation. Harry was elated to find out that their rundown public school was in possession of a library. Granted, the books weren't the best quality and the room itself was only nine-by-eleven, but to them it was a paradise that stayed open until five in the evening. Wool's small stock of reading material was atrocious and it cost too much to take the bus into the middle of London every weekend, so to have their own library close to home was a blessing to their young minds.

Harry couldn't wait to get out of the muggle world and back to the magical one. He only had to suffer through three more years of review of muggle knowledge. Incomplete muggle knowledge, considering he'd taken classes during the 1980's. It was bad enough learning it once; he didn't want to go through it again. Sometimes when he was drifting off in class, he wondered if re-learning his lessons at Hogwarts be as boring as it was in muggle school. He hoped not. Magic could never bore him, and maybe he'd get better grades this time since he already knew the material and Snape wouldn't be teaching potions.

The muggle school Tom and he attended was very low class, even with the reading facility, but, then again, it was a public school in the 1930's. He couldn't expect education to be like it was when he first went to school. Luckily, though, this time he had Tom. Tom was his savior; his light that kept him out of the dark depths of hellish boredom he was sure to fall into if not for the intelligent conversations they were able to have together. That, together with the fact that his cousin, Dudley, wasn't running around trying to use him as a punching bag, kept Harry from committing suicide in order to find out if death really was the next great adventure.

Tom thought it was rather funny whenever Harry got bored of the material. It seemed as if somehow Harry already knew it. He guessed that this phenomenon was because Harry'd read his schoolbooks and school notes when Tom took the classes the year prior, so Tom and Harry always talked about Tom's classes rather than Harry's. It was always the lessons they would talk about too, not the people. Harry knew that if he'd tried he could have become friends with the kids in his class, but he never did. He never wanted to befriend any of them because not only would they take time away from the extraordinary amount he was spending on Tom, but he knew that he would be out of their lives in a few years anyway. _No need to give them false hope,_ was the excuse he mentally told himself every day before he went back to the overcrowded classroom to learn about over-taught subjects.

Tom, on the other hand, just didn't like people. He had Harry, and that was all he needed…for now.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

To say Harry was annoyed would be an understatement.

He was livid, furious, in fact. It had been over an hour since Dennis Bishop, Amy Benson, and Tom had gone missing and Harry was forced into looking for the three rather than savoring what precious little time he had to explore the White Cliffs of Devonshire. The whole thing was completely ridiculous. Of course, _he_ knew where they were. _He_ knew what Tom was doing to them, and did he care? Harry smirked as he peered over the jagged ledge to the ocean far below. If you'd asked him that question five years ago, his immediate answer would have been, "Where's my wand, it's time for me to kill Tom," but now…it meant little more to him than what he'd be having for dinner.

Tom was Tom and would be Tom no matter what Harry tried to do to prevent it. After a few events that had taken place over the years, he was fairly certain that Tom would become Lord Voldemort one day as well, but instead of trying to prevent it, Harry had resolved to stay by Tom's side and keep his friend from going insane. It was his time spent at Hogwarts and immersion into the Dark Arts which was what twisted Tom's mind and body, creating the deformed mass that was Lord Voldemort. If Harry was there, he could prevent most of it from happening.

Harry knew Tom and could not accept that the devious, witty, conniving boy who could also turn on the charm and get whatever he wanted was also the megalomaniac Dark Lord in the future, obsessed with a sixteen-year-old boy he couldn't defeat, and quite frankly, Harry didn't think he'd be able to defeat Voldemort either. It had nothing to do with any feelings he developed for Tom so much as the fact that Voldemort was the most powerful Dark Lord ever. Period. And he, Harry, was sure that he didn't even know a quarter of the dark spells Voldemort had tucked under his belt. Harry knew he was okay in duels, usually coming out on the winning end, but against Voldemort–who even Dumbledore couldn't defeat–Harry was sure that he would lose. It wasn't a comforting thought, but it was honest; not sugarcoated, not seen through rose-colored glasses, but an undeniable fact.

Harry had promised himself the day he decided to become friends with Tom that if Tom started acting even a bit like Voldemort he would off him right then-and-there, but could he do it? Could Harry kill his best friend? No, he couldn't. Asking that was like asking him to kill Ron or Hermione, it was simply impossible for him to do it even if he had a wand at his throat. Harry felt like he was going through a mid-life crisis. Kill your best friend, or let him live to kill all the people you hold dear. It was a tough choice and he wished he had an outside, totally neutral, party he could discuss his problems with because he really didn't want to do it.

After an hour of unsuccessful searching, a joyous shriek given from Martha alerted the party that the three had been found. Amy and Dennis looked shell-shocked and just about ready to piss their pants with Tom following behind, insouciant with his hands in his pockets. While Martha and Mrs. Cole tried to pry from Amy and Dennis what had happened–completely ignoring Tom–the source of Harry's problems walked over to him.

As Tom got closer, Harry's eyes got smaller until they were two slits on his face. "What were you doing, Tom?" he hissed as soon as the boy was within earshot.

Tom soaked in Harry's onslaught of wrath like it was nothing. "Experimenting," was his clam reply.

"'Experimenting', huh? _On them_?"

Tom seemed to have anticipated this question and not even a muscle on his face twitched in disloyalty.

"And if I did?" Harry stared at Tom, not expecting him to admit to it so easily.

"Erm, I don't know. Why'd you do it?"

"Curiosity. Isn't that what fuels any analysis?" Tom threw back coolly. Martha was still trying to get Amy and Dennis to talk, but Mrs. Cole was glaring over at where Tom and Harry stood.

"Fine," Harry huffed, knowing that he wouldn't get Tom to feel remorse over using human test subjects. "Then what were you doing to them?" Now it was Tom's turn to become tight-lipped as Harry pursed his. He had his own hypothesis about what Tom'd done, aware that Tom, by now, had the ability to make people hurt along with parseltongue, forcing animals to do his bidding, and "telekinesis", but still wanted Tom to divulge the information to him on his own accord.

Their trip continued with Harry trying to get what he wanted out of Tom and Martha doing the same to Dennis and Amy but none of the three children gave anything away.


	4. Chapter 4

_Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born_. - Anais Nin

Any day now, _it_ would happen.

Any day now Dumbledore would come strolling up the front path and into Wool's with the sole purpose of telling Tom something Harry already knew. He would take Harry's Tom from him; there was no way that Tom would turn Dumbledore down. Harry didn't mind accepting in his mind that he viewed Tom as his; they'd only had each other for nearly six years now. Harry wouldn't try and stop Tom from going to Hogwarts, seeing as how he'd be going there next year anyway and, not to mention, Tom deserved bigger, better, things than what the muggle world had to offer; things only the wizarding world could give.

Harry sighed and fiddled with the bracelet Tom had given him approximately five years ago on his fifth birthday. It had been a bit too big then, but now it fit quite snugly on his wrist. Some people thought it was amazing the two bracelets that "connected" Harry and Tom hadn't fallen off yet, but Harry knew better. When he'd made Tom's, he had wandlessly used an easy strengthening charm to keep the colorful twine from falling off by natural means. It would never get too tight, fray, or fall apart. When Tom had given Harry a friendship bracelet as well, he again used the same charm on his own and now they had something with meaning that connected them to each other rather than just Harry's scar. It was a nice feeling.

Stretching his arms up over his head, Harry though about the irony in Tom's attempt to finish up a summer homework assignment for a class in a school he'd never attend again. True, the older boy wouldn't listen to Harry's not-so-subtle hints that the homework wouldn't matter, and it was because of that, coupled with a desire from Tom to play with harry without having the unfinished assignments gnawing at the back of his brain, that Harry sat on his bed, alone, in his room with his arms resting on the sill of the open window, scowling over events that had yet come to pass; about when Dumbledore would come to take Tom away to the world of magic and impossibilities.

Harry let a rush of air erupt out his nostrils as his resent for Dumbledore piled up; he'd had a lot to think on over six years. The old goat had left him alone at the Dursley's without telling him about magic for the first eleven years of his life. He had never checked in to make sure things were going okay; to make sure Harry wasn't being abused by his magic-fearing relatives. They never sexually abused him–Harry involuntarily shivered at the thought of his Uncle forcing himself on his young body–but there was definitely mental, physical, and emotional abuse that traveled through their broken relationship. Harry was never shown the love or given the care that a child needed, never had a friend, and was constantly picked on by Dudley and his gang. His Uncle had manhandled him on more than one occasion and his Aunt had commanded him to do most of the chores. All of that, combined with Dudley's nonstop insults about his appearance, made Harry wonder how he never went Dark. But that was probably part of Dumbledore's master plan too. He was the first person to provide a sanctuary for Harry, away from his family; not that it helped in the long run. True, Harry was able to make finally make friends at Hogwarts, but he'd had at least one near-death experience every single year he'd attended the school, and had been ignored and/or hated by nearly the entire student body on more than one occasion.

First year, it was Fluffy on Halloween followed by Quirrell with Voldemort stuck to the back of his head in June. Second year, there was a basilisk roaming the castle and Dobby's "helpful" bludger, with Voldemort's horcrux unleashing the basilisk on him bringing up the rear of that bloody circus. Third year, luckily, Sirius wasn't actually trying to off Harry–just Ron's rat–and he only had to worry about the fifty-foot fall from his broomstick and the dementor that tried to suck out his soul. Fourth year he didn't even want to get in to, and fifth year began with another dementor attack and ended with the giant Death Eater attack in the Department of Mysteries followed by Voldemort trying to kill him in the atrium with Dumbledore arriving just in time. Sixth year…

Harry blinked in surprise as he realized that it was the _one_ year Voldemort hadn't tried to come after _him_; but that didn't make it any better. Dumbledore had died and left him with a mission to find and destroy all Voldemort's horcruxes.

_As if I could do that on my own_, Harry thought, repulsed by the man's actions. He hadn't told Harry to go back to school and finish training to defeat Voldemort like the prophecy said, no. He'd practically ordered the boy to go off in search of an unknown number of horcruxes in unknown locations with Harry not the least bit knowledgeable on how to destroy them. And the worst part about it? Harry would have done it. He would have gone off on a wild goose chase, not informing anyone in the Order where he was going or what he was doing, with Hermione's brains and Ron's _lovely_ optimism and thirst for fame as company. It didn't matter if Harry was the boy-who-lived or the chosen one, Dumbledore shouldn't have left such an important task to only him.

_And let's not forget about the Prophecy_, reminded a nasty little voice in the back of Harry's head. As much as he liked to pretend, he couldn't forgive Dumbledore for not informing him about the prophecy. It should have been the first thing the old coot did when Harry first rejoined the wizarding world, but he didn't do that either. If Dumbledore had come out and honestly told Harry first year after Voldemort was discovered attached to Quirrell's head, "By the way, the real reason Voldemort went after you when you were a baby was because he heard an incomplete version of a Prophecy predicting you would be the cause of his downfall," then Harry would have been eons more prepared–mentally and physically–for the battles that were to come.

He had ultimately become so repulsed by Dumbledore's mysterious way of thinking that his anger towards the old man for coming to take Tom away for a school year increased tenfold. He was brooding so deeply about Dumbledore that he thought the man walking through the gate was merely an illusion created in his mind. For about five seconds. Harry was so shocked that the object of his controlled hate had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, that the elbow he was resting his chin on slipped and he nearly fell out his open window.

There, strolling jovially up the front path in a much too cheery manner, was Dumbledore. Granted, it was a much younger version of the future headmaster, one whose hair had yet to turn white, but Harry glared at him all the same. He would still become, if he hadn't already, a manipulative bastard bent on ruining Harry's life.

As if he could feel someone watching him, Dumbledore looked up and met Harry's eyes. The latter wasn't shocked by the man's actions in the least and wouldn't have been surprised if he _could_ feel Harry's eyes roaming over his form, so he didn't look away. Why should he? It wasn't like he was afraid of Dumbledore reading his mind. It had taken him the whole of sixth year to completely master occlumency, but he'd done it–with the help of the ever-willing Hermione, of course. It didn't matter that he was only ten now, he still retained all the magical abilities he'd had at age seventeen.

Dumbledore looked away, never missing a step and, when he got to the front door, Harry could hear the faint booms echoing up from the front door through both the halls of Wool's and his third story window. His scowl deepened at the knowledge of what was already upon him. He didn't want to go bother Tom, and he couldn't. Dumbledore would notice him as the same boy from earlier and Harry couldn't risk him getting suspicious, especially since Harry was sure he'd see him again next summer. Harry heard the faint murmuring of voices drifting up to his window before the door was shut again.

He waited until he heard the door to Tom's room next door open and shut before sneaking down to the kitchens. He didn't want to face Tom at dinner, afraid that his unnecessary rage towards Dumbledore would show through, so he just wouldn't attend the meal. Harry hoped that, after enough time had passed, he would be able to talk about the Professor in calm tones but for now, he was beyond reasoning with. He'd never had the best of tempers, and having to act like a child for so long had caused him to sometimes lose his self-control when he was at boiling point. Another, more minor, factor that kept him from attending the last meal of the day was that he didn't want Tom interrogating him about why he held such a loathsome impression of a person he'd supposedly never met before in his life.

Harry trudged down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen's entrance. Usually if he pulled the "I'm so innocent and hungry, please feed me" look he could get anything from the women who worked there, so that's what he did. His profits? An apple, a brownie and a carton of milk, even though dinner was a mere thirty minutes away. Damn, why wasn't he aware of his skills back in his time? He quickly made his way back up the stairs and into his room. He had no intention of physically running into the old coot today at all.

Back in his hideout, Harry returned to his bed and looked out the window above it. He placed his elbows back on the windowsill and began munching on his apple. It was a good thing his mind was older than his body, or else he might've fallen out of the space years ago when he first discovered that it opened. He was, once again, disappointed in the people running the orphanage. _I mean, really. Who puts a four-year-old on the third floor in a room, unsupervised, with a window that opens completely? Idiots._

Harry heard the front door open once again and he looked down, getting an excellent view of the tops of Mrs. Cole and Dumbledore's heads'. _Probably discussing the cost of Tom's new_ school, he thought malevolently. Harry loved Hogwarts, he really did, but he didn't like the fact that it was going to steal his best friend away from him for a year, leaving him to fend for himself.

Mrs. Cole shook Dumbledore's hand and closed the door. Dumbledore retreated merrily back the way he came, taking one last glance back at the cheerless building only to, once again, meet eyes with the same small boy on the third floor. Not missing the hate-filled eyes directed at him, he attempted to probe the boy's mind. What he was met with, however, was a resilient steel barricade. His eyes widened a fraction of an inch at the strong resistance he was met with._ Interesting_, he thought before turning back around and exiting the property. He walked around the bend and flitted into a narrow alleyway–the perfect spot to apparate.

In room twenty-eight on Wool's third floor, the muscle surrounding Harry's right eye spasmed. Dumbledore had just tried to read his mind and he was furious, but thanked every part of Merlin that his shields had stayed up and kept the old man _out_. There was no need for him to know _anything_ about Harry _or_ his life _ever._ He might try to meddle in it again like he did before, or worse, send Harry home. All Harry wanted was a normal life and to do normal things, not having to constantly look over his shoulder to make sure that a certain Dark Lord wasn't standing there waiting to Avada Kedavra him, or anyone he was close to, into the next century. He didn't want to be anyone's "savior", all he wanted was to be Tom's friend, but it looked like Dumbledore had messed that up too without even trying; for a year at least.

Seven o'clock came and went but Harry didn't leave the confines of his room. He didn't want to see Tom. He didn't want to find out whether Tom would trust him enough to let him in on his newest secret or not. If Harry were the older one, what would he do? Maybe he would tell Tom; probably he would. He wouldn't want to feed his friend half-truths. He knew how that felt and never wanted to purposely do it to someone he cared about…

Harry squirmed, twisting the sheets he was kneeling on. He really had to use the toilet but he didn't want to risk meeting Tom in the bathroom. It would lead to the awkward question of where Harry had been at dinner.

He polished off the rest of his milk before doing what felt like the most disgusting thing he'd ever done in his life. He let loose his bowels into the carton. It wasn't that bad. He even scourgified it afterwards, but because he still felt slightly disgusted when he looked at it, he tossed it out the window to join the rest of the litter left randomly around the building by lazy children. It was silly, really, that they didn't take the time to throw away their trash when every Sunday after dinner everyone was forced outside on clean-up duty

The sun left the sky and darkness fell to the ground with Harry still sitting by his window, alone. He waited there in the same position until it was nearly lights-out before he decided it was time to sleep. The fact that Tom still hadn't tried to come find him played at the back of his mind as he snuggled under the thin sheets. Did their friendship really mean that little? A sudden bout of emotions slammed into his chest and Harry instantly felt like he was going to cry. He bit his lip and stared up at the ceiling, listing off all the spells he knew in his head to keep the tears at bay. Fifteen minutes later, the matron came around knocking on everyone's doors, telling them to blow out their candles and go to bed.

Harry lay there in darkness, listening to her footsteps retreat and unable to go to sleep. The events of that day, small though they were, were too much for him to handle. A lone creak from the hallway near his door made his thoughts stop and his eyes blink. Someone was out of bed and it shouldn't be the matron; she only did one round before retiring for the evening. It couldn't be one of the many rats Harry had seen over the years either because they never had enough weight to them that made the floorboards moan. A soft knock sounded at his door.

"Harry?" came the whispered question.

Harry sat up, mildly confused. "Tom?" Without answering, the door opened then closed. Harry could see Tom's outline in the darkness as he made his way carefully over to Harry's bed, sitting down on the edge. The clouds outside lazily moved out of the way of the moon and it's light illuminated Tom's weary face for Harry to see.

"Didn't see you at dinner."

Harry half-shrugged even though his friend's eyes were averted. "Wasn't hungry."

Tom shook his head. "You haven't been hungry before but you still came down to talk anyway. What's wrong? Are you sick?"

Harry didn't reply. What could he say? That he was jealous Hogwarts was stealing Tom from him even though he supposedly had no idea what Hogwarts was? Tom sighed at Harry's lack of response.

"A man came to see me today. He said his name was Professor Dumbledore. He wants me to come to his school, free of charge."

Harry stiffened. "Are you gonna go?" He didn't look at Tom. He already knew the answer.

"Yeah. It's a boarding school though, and it's far away. I didn't want to go if I couldn't see you, but the school is," he struggled to find the right word, "magical."

Mentally surprised that he'd come straight out with the truth, Harry looked back at Tom, eyebrows raised in confrontation. "Magical? Tom, you've never even been there before. How can you describe a place you've never been to as magical?"

Tom's face twitched slightly with hurt, and it made Harry feel incredibly guilty inside because it was rare that Tom was ever this open with him and even rarer when the boy showed he was unhappy.

"I–," Tom paused and made an expression as though he were internally debating something. He met Harry's eyes with his own and said in his most serious voice, "I'm about to tell you a big secret. You can't tell _anybody_. That one professor made me _swear_ not to tell_ anyone,_ and I'm already breaking that contract by telling you."

Harry nodded, managing to keep a straight face even though his stomach was nervously flip-flopping faster that when he'd seen Dumbledore earlier that day. Could this really be happening?

"I'm a wizard, Harry."

"You're a-a-a _what_?" He had to act properly surprised of course.

Tom nodded his head. "A wizard. I can do magic. Real magic. Like turning people into frogs and stuff."

"But-but how?"

"I'm not quite sure really; only I know that I've done it before. Accidental magic is what Professor Dumbledore called it. Magic I did without knowing I was doing magic. You remember that time we were at the caves and I, erm, _punished_ Amy and Denis?" Harry nodded. He'd never forget an event as hectic as that. Especially when it contained an all too freaked-out Mrs. Cole. "Well, while we were in the cave, I got so mad at them and all the things they were saying about you that I accidentally used magic. I hurt them. Badly. That's why they never told the adults what went on in there. They're frightened of me, of what they think I'd do to them if they ever let slip the truth."

Harry stared at Tom in disbelief. His friend had already admitted to being a wizard, but coming clean about something that had happened a year ago too… It was turning out to be a night of confessions on Tom's part.

"That's what you–they were talking about me?"

Tom bit his lip and gazed at the floor. "I'd heard some not-so-nice rumors about you at school and found out that Amy had started them. I had her follow me to the caves to confront her, but Dennis came tagged along. When I told her I knew she'd been saying things about you and told her to stop, she and Dennis just laughed, thinking it was the funniest thing in the world that I actually cared about someone, and began saying more things about you to hurt me." Tom's mouth twisted into a wicked smirk that Harry had only ever seen on Voldemort's face. "But in the end, it was them who got hurt; and they'll never forget it."

Silence followed as Harry tried to work out how to respond to Tom's admission. The only reason Tom had harmed the other orphans had been because of him. Also, Tom's verbal acknowledgement of caring for Harry had rendered him speechless. It was the first time he'd ever heard directly from Tom in words that the boy felt the same about Harry as he did for Tom.

"I believe you, Tom," he said with a smile, reverting back to the original topic since he still couldn't find any words to explain his feelings on Tom's other confession. "About being a wizard, I mean."

Tom looked surprised for a second, but then broke out into a huge grin. "Really, you do?"

"I do."

"That's great." Tom turned his body to face Harry. "Don't worry, I'll write you every day, and come home whenever I can. It's a school for magic, so I'm going to be going there with other witches and wizards, just like me." Tom paused, his eyes widening in sudden realization. "Bloody hell, I'm going to be so far behind the rest of them in _anything_ that has to do with magic!"

Harry laughed. "Don't worry, I believe in you." He was more worried about Tom's other personality than he was about him being behind in magic. When Tom was with Harry, he came alive and acted like the Tom Harry had grown to adore, but when he was around other people… he did tend to remind Harry, sometimes, of the Tom in Dumbledore's memories; except that this anti-social Tom had a more snobbish, aristocratic attitude rather that a creepy, psychotic one.

"Shhhhh, keep it down. You don't want the matron to hear, do you?" Harry's giggles immediately stopped. "Well, now that I know we're still friends and you won't burn me at the stake," Tom threw Harry an appreciative glance, "I guess I'll be going back to bed now." He shifted his weight forward and started to slide off the bed.

Harry didn't know what made him do it–maybe it was looking at Tom's back leaving and knowing it would be gone for a year–but he grabbed the other boy's wrist. Tom looked down, then up again, a question mark written plainly across his face. Harry took a deep breath. "Sta-stay with me. Tonight. Please. I need you here, beside me. I just feel so overwhelmed with the knowledge that you'll be leaving soon, I-" Harry didn't know what else to say so he looked at his friend with pleading eyes. Tom and he never had much physical contact unless they were roughhousing or Tom was abusing Harry's skull with flicks and smacks.

Tom stared at him for a long moment with no expression on his face. Pretty sure that his request would be answered with a negative, he began releasing his grip on Tom's appendage.

"Scoot over."

Shocked, Harry let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding in, let go of Tom's wrist completely, and moved over to make room for his best friend. Tom crawled under the covers and lay on his side, facing Harry. He could feel the heat of Tom's breath on his face. Neither said anything, just resting there in comfortable silence. Tom smiled and Harry returned it. "G'night, Harry."

"G'night, Tom." Their eyes closed as one and they both drifted off into the land of dreams.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

It was ironic that today was an overcast day, for today was the day Tom left for Hogwarts. They had already said goodbye to each other and now Harry was walking by himself to the boring muggle school with boring muggles who couldn't teach him if their life depended on it. Not even if Voldemort came in and ordered them to do it well after slaughtering the class. They were almost as bad as Professor Binns.

Harry smirked at the thought of Tom in that class. He would definitely be missing the muggle teachers when he entered _that_ classroom. The only thing he was worried about, though, was how the other Slytherins would act around Tom; how they would treat him. Harry knew they were a bloodthirsty lot, but he knew nothing about the original batch of death eaters.

Harry glared at nothing in particular as he walked down the sidewalk, kicking the pebbles he came across. Merlin, this year was going to _suck._

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

_Harry,_

_I hope this letter finds you. I've never used an owl to deliver my mail before, so I'm not really sure how reliable they are. I told you I would tell you everything about Hogwarts, didn't I, so here it goes._

_It's a castle. The school is a _castle_. I couldn't believe it when I first saw. I'm sure my jaw dropped. How undignified of me. *laughs* Luckily, though, I wasn't the only new student blown away._

_Anyway, I was a bit apprehensive of the sorting ceremony, since I had no clue how we were going to be sorted into our Houses (there are four of them, by the way: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin). It turned out that all we had to do was put on this ratty old hat and it would shout out where we would best succeed. Wherever the Sorting Hat chose would be the House we were to become a part of for the next seven years. The rest of our school career._

_I'm in Slytherin. I don't mind, but I'd heard some people on the train saying that only the worst types of wizards get sorted into Slytherin. They can't be all bad, I'm sure, and it can't possibly be that _every_ person from _all_ the other Houses are _all_ saints either. Maybe it just has of bad reputation because Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts after having a fight with Gryffindor about a century ago._

_Did I mention that the houses are named after the founders of the school? It truly is an amazing experience and I've learned so much about this place already. It has so much back-history. I wish you were here with me, though. I haven't made any friends yet because of my people problems and because I only arrived today. I'm writing to you and it's midnight already, so you'd better feel appreciated and write back._

_I'm so excited for the classes; they start tomorrow. Transfiguration, Charms, Potions–I don't know how I'm going to comprehend it all. Luckily there's a real library here, and no, you didn't read that wrong. I did indeed write '_real_ library'. It feels so good to go to a school where they actually have a place for you to go and study if you need help or want to know more._

_Fortunately, though, I'm not alone. There are many other children here who have been raised by muggles (non-magic folk) and therefore don't know a _thing_ about magic. I'm glad I already studied some, however, since that at least puts me ahead of all the ones who know nothing._

_Back to the 'friend' topic, you'll be proud to know that I've made a few…acquaintances here, during the welcome back feast (there was so much food!). I call them that because they are not my friends, at least, not yet. But have no fear; no one can take your place in my heart as my first and very best friend (no, that wasn't sarcasm). The names of these boys are Orion Black and Abraxas Malfoy. I wonder how useful they will be to me. They room with me and all the other Slytherins show them respect, so they must have some sort of higher status in this world. It's very confusing at times and I wish I'd never had to grow up in the muggle world…but then I wouldn't have met you, so I guess it wasn't all a waste of my time._

_Reply quickly using the owl. I know it might seem strange, but just tie a note to its leg, or give it a letter. I want to hear all about _your_ first day and how much you already miss me. *smirks*_

_Sincerely,_

_Tom_

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

_Harry,_

_Im sorry that this letter will be so short. I've attached your Christmas present to the owl. It's in the small box. I know the goddess of temptation will settle down around your shoulders, but don't open it until Yule._

_You might be wondering why I'm sending you your present instead of delivering it myself. The truth is…I'm not coming home for Christmas. *avoids punch he knows you'll throw his way*_

_I cant. I would if I could, but really…I can't…_

_I have to stay at Hogwarts and study. I need to catch up with the other kids attending. I know it might seem strange of me to tell you this since I was always top of my year back there, but the children here have all been taught spells by their parents; before they came to Hogwarts. I need to catch up over this break if I want to survive here. I'll explain it all better in person when I get home during the summer. *avoids second punch* I'll send you something for Easter too…_

_I'm so sorry that I can't come home. I know I promised, but…I understand if you don't want to send me my present this year, or even a letter anymore._

_I really am truly sorry._

_Sincerely,_

_Tom_

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Harry was practically bouncing off the walls. Today was the last day of June and, therefore, the day he would finally be reunited with Tom. It had been an entire year of Harry, alone, by himself, with no one to talk to or chat with. He wished he cared more that the other kids didn't like him. Harry had hoped Tom would come back to the orphanage over Christmas break, but he wasn't surprised when Tom opted to stay at Hogwarts and study some more. He understood Tom's somewhat obsessive need to be top of the class. This time, however, it amused Harry because, in muggle school, Tom was always number one without even really trying. Who knew, maybe after a year or two at Hogwarts, it would be the same.

After a year of being without a friend in Wool's, Harry could really sympathize with the Tom Riddle he'd seen in Dumbledore's memories. It was truly a horrid place, and Harry felt bad Tom had been there five years on his own. The children were mean, the food seemed even more disgusting without someone to eat with, and the adults really didn't trouble themselves with the orphans as long as you "followed the rules".

Basically, without a friend to share all the horrors with and somehow make them seem less terrible, Wool's Orphanage was exactly on the inside as it appeared on the outside: gloomy, cold, and miserable. _Yep, Tom better get here soon._

Harry waited in his room, looking out over the courtyard. He knew that the Hogwarts Express had pulled into the station a while ago, which meant Tom could be here any minute. Kings Cross wasn't too far from Wool's, so Tom wouldn't need to take a cab; not that he had the money for it. It also wouldn't take him very long to walk back to the orphanage, if he wasn't taking his sweet time; but why would he want to take his time? He hadn't seen Harry for a school-year just like Harry hadn't–

"Tom!" The exclamation slipped from Harry's lips, even though there was no one around to hear it. He saw his best friend come around the corner a block away, and dashed out of his room, through the hall and down the stairs. By the time he was at the bottom, he was completely out of breath–utterly unsightly, as Tom would say. Harry didn't want to appear too excited, so he opted to stay indoors at the bottom of the stairs and catch his breath, sitting down on the lowest step. Tom would probably be at the front gates now, and that would hopefully give Harry just enough time to make it seem as though he hadn't really run down three flights of stairs, just to see his best friend come through the doors.

It really was barley enough time. Right as Harry started breathing normally again, the knob on the front door twisted and the door swung open, revealing a tired, but happy, Tom Riddle. He saw Harry on the stairs and smirked.

"Were you sitting there waiting for me to get back all day? Hmph, you really_ must've_ been bored without me."

Harry just stuck out his tongue. "Contrary to your _mass_, the world does not revolve around you."

Tom let out an indignant yelp. "Hey, I'm not fat! I'm actually quite skinny!"

"_Sure_, Tommy-boy, _sure_. You just keep telling yourself that. In fact, you seem to have put on an enormous amount of weight since you've been away. Must have been from all that feasting."

"Fine," Tom crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head to the side, neglecting to comment on Harry using his fowl nickname. "Then I guess you don't want to hear about all my classes or have any of the things I brought back for you."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Hear about your classes? Tom, you wrote me practically_ every day_. It was like I was _in_ your classes _with_ you." Tom pouted, a trait he had subconsciously picked up from Harry. He didn't do it often, and certainly not around other people. Harry giggled. "_But_," he drawled, "If you brought me _presents,_ I guess I'll _have_ to make an exception and allow you to smother me with your tales of magic." Harry jumped up and began to walk up the stairs towards Tom's room.

"If you weren't my best friend," Tom muttered under his breath. He looked at his trunk, then at the stairs. "Harry."

Harry turned around, half-way up the first flight of stairs. "What?"

"Are you going to help me with this or not?"

Harry sighed before skipping back down the stairs. Though phrased as a question, he knew a command when he heard it. "Geez, Tom. Can't you do _anything_ without me?"

"No, Harry, I can't. Without you I would probably become an empty shell of nothingness, destined to drift about the sands of time, alone, forever."

"Oh, don't be such a dramatic twat-muffin."

Tom laughed. It was a sound Harry hadn't heard in a long time and it brought a smile to his face, something Tom's natural laugh always did. "'Twat-muffin' isn't, and never will be, a word."

"I'd forgotten how much I missed your bottomless pot of knowledge, Tom," Harry sarcastically replied. "How could I have not known my insult wasn't a part of the English language?"

Tom sniffed indignantly and didn't say anything for the rest of their short trip up to his room. They set the trunk down so Tom could open the door, and Harry just walked in like he owned the place, collapsing on the bed when he reached it. "My arms," he groaned, "my poor arms. They were not aware the world could bring such hardships about. They were so young. We shouldn't have shown them, not yet. It was too soon."

Tom shook his head. "You don't make any sense, I hope you know that." His trunk made a scraping noise on the floor as he pushed it into the room with his foot. He kicked the door shut and bent down to undo the lock.

Harry used his body mass as momentum to swing his upper half up into a sitting position. "So? What did you bring me?"

Tom snorted. "You sure bounce back fast." He finished with the lock and opened the lid of the trunk. Harry sat up to see what was inside. Books, robes, wand, candy–

"Candy! Oh, Tom, you shouldn't have."

"I didn't."

"What?"

"Just kidding." Tom laughed when Harry stuck out his bottom lip and crossed his arms over his chest. "Here, Harry, these are Bertie Bott's every flavor beans. They're like jelly-beans, only these come in every flavor imaginable." Harry took the bag happily. He already knew everything Tom had said, but it would be best to humor the other for the time being. He could claim more mastery of the magical world once he actually had a place in it. "And I mean every flavor," Tom continued. "My friend, Abraxas, got a vomit flavored one. It was hysterical watching his face screw up in disgust before spitting it back out. Normally he's very refined–prim and proper, you know the sort–because he was raised in a very high-class aristocratic family. We all had a good laugh watching his dignity go to the dogs."

Harry stuck his hand into the bag and pulled out a bright orange one. _Mandarin._ "So Malfoy and Black have graduated from acquaintance to friend status?"

Tom nodded. "There aren't a lot of people in Slytherin who will just start talking to you if you don't have power. Blood-status and power's all that matter to them, really. It can be highly annoying. They give me such condescending looks simply because I was raised in an orphanage." _If they only knew. _"It isn't my fault that I have no clue if both my parents were magical or not. Only Orion and Abraxas don't seem to care that much. Or at least, they don't anymore. We met at dinner on the first night and they seemed alright. Then they found out my name was Riddle and, since they don't know any purebloods named 'Riddle', they started to distance themselves from me. But now we're friends because I've gotten to be quite powerful, for a first-year. It seems that power overrides blood-status on some counts."

"Purebloods?"

"Wizarding folk who don't have an ounce of muggle or magical creature blood in them. They seem to pride themselves on how 'pure' their blood is. It's a bit strange really, but most things wizards do is strange to me"

Harry nodded and grinned gleefully. "I understand–don't give me that look, I do, really! But truthfully, Tom, I'm just glad you're home."


	5. Chapter 5

_Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company._ –Mark Twain

Harry was having more fun with Tom than he'd had in a long time. They hadn't seen each other for ten months and Tom was doing his best to make up for lost time. Harry was sure that the main reason for the other boy's actions was because he felt guilty for not coming back to Wool's during his breaks like he'd promised. It was also because he was unaware that Dumbledore would soon be returning to inform Harry of his acceptance into Hogwarts as well, unknowingly ensuring the boys' continued company after two months of summer. Harry, of course, knew Dumbledore would be returning but didn't let slip the information he wasn't supposed to know, allowing himself to forget about the old man's visit for lengthy periods of time. It was because he was so wrapped up in Tom that he didn't notice how quickly the days passed by and why Dumbledore's visit truly surprised him when it finally came.

He and Tom were in the abandoned commons playing their third round of Go Fish when Mrs. Cole, followed by Dumbledore, walked in. Tom, immediately recognizing his Transfiguration professor, quickly sat up from his previous position on his stomach, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "Professor Dumbledore? What are you doing here? Is something the matter?"

Dumbledore shook his head, smiling kindly at Tom, but twinkling eyes fixed on Harry. "No, no, Tom. Nothing's wrong. I simply need to have a word with young Harry here." Tom's eyes widened in shock, and he snapped his neck around to stare at Harry.

"Does that mean he's going to be coming to school too?"

"It certainly does, but I think it would be best if we take this conversation somewhere more private. Perhaps your room, Harry?"

Harry looked at Tom, who smiled and nodded at Harry to go. He pushed himself up and led Dumbledore to his room. Without enthusiasm, he opened his door and moved to his bed where he plopped down facing the future headmaster. Dumbledore politely closed the door to keep their conversation out of the hall but remained standing; looking down at Harry with the same smile he'd had before.

"I knew I recognized you from somewhere," he said more to himself than to harry. "You're the boy I noticed a year ago, the last time I came here, when I informed Tom that he had a place at Hogwarts. I must say that your first impression was surprising. I could sense magic housing itself in you–not very common to that degree in children your age. It's even more rare that two wizards are ever found in one muggle-run orphanage, especially if they aren't related." He paused. "Mrs. Cole said that you were brought here at the age of four. Did you know if your parents were magical or not?"

Harry felt the muscle under his eye give a slight twitch. He'd thought Dumbledore was more intelligent than that. What if Harry's parents were killed in a most gruesome manner right before his eyes? Dumbledore could have brought up quite painful memories with that question.

"No."

"No you didn't know or no they weren't magical?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "I don't know if they were magical. I don't have any real memories of them. I barely remember their faces."

Dumbledore hummed to himself in thought. "I guess Tom broke his promise then."

Harry blinked, puzzled by Dumbledore's response. "What promise?"

"That he wouldn't tell anyone about Hogwarts or magic," he said kindly, making a point to show in his voice and eyes that it was in no way Harry's fault. "It's obvious he told you something about the wizarding world. If he hadn't, you wouldn't have answered my first question the way you did. You would have looked at me as if I were crazy to insinuate that your parents may have been wizards."

Harry chose not to answer or point out that the Tom in Dumbledore's memories hadn't seemed surprised when he was informed that he was a wizard either. He'd let Dumbledore think whatever the old man wanted to think. That was usually how things ended up happening anyway.

"That makes my job a bit easier, I suppose. Since Tom has undoubtedly told you about Hogwarts already, I don't have to explain much. Also, because you and Tom are friends, I believe he would rather take you to Diagon Alley himself. He didn't wish for my company when I explained it to him last summer. He should also help you with getting to school on the first of September. He is lucky, though, that you are a wizard as well or he would have to have been dealt a punishment from his Head of House, Professor Slughorn for revealing information about the magical world. Now, I have just one question to ask you, Mr. Evans." Dumbledore's face became serious and the twinkle vanished from his eyes. "Do you wish to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

Harry refrained from looking at Dumbledore as if he was an idiot. Of course Harry wanted to go to Hogwarts, what kind of fool would rather stay at Wool's then go off to hone their magical ability? "Yes, sir. I would like to attend."

"Wonderful!" Dumbledore clapped his hands and extracted two envelopes from within his maroon-colored, velvet jacket. "Here is your letter of acceptance and school supplies, along with Mr. Riddle's. Your tickets for the Hogwarts Express are included. It will leave Kings Cross Station for Hogwarts at exactly eleven o'clock a.m. on September first. Do try to avoid being late. Have a good summer, Mr. Evans." Dumbledore turned and left Harry, holding the letters, alone in his room. It wasn't long before Tom excitedly poked his head in.

"So you're going to come to Hogwarts too?" Harry nodded. "That's great." Tom smiled. "We can go to Diagon Alley tomorrow to get our things. Dumbledore told me when I met him on the stairs that he gave you my letter. This is going to be so much fun! You're going to love it at Hogwarts, I guarantee."

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Tom stuck to his word. The next day, he rushed Harry through eating, dressing, and showering, in that order. Harry knew Tom was just overly excited to show him all the things the wizarding world had to offer that he wasn't able to before, but his enthusiasm was beginning to grate on Harry's nerves. Tom had woken him just barely after the sun had risen; too early for him to have to deal with Tom's abnormal morning-enthusiasm.

Harry moved slowly, even though Tom buzzed around him animatedly, hoping that it would calm the other boy down. Luckily, his plan worked and a much calmer Tom walked them out the orphanage towards the park from where they could go anywhere they liked. They didn't want to risk Mrs. Cole or another lady who worked at the orphanage spying them going off into the depths of London unsupervised from the front gates of Wool's. Neither boy had any desire to spend the rest of their summer locked away inside the stuffy building.

As they got closer to The Leaky Cauldron, Tom began to regain his excited personality, telling Harry about all the things the younger boy would get to do once the school year began. It didn't seem to matter to him that he'd written Harry about most of what he was explaining already many times over the past year, and Harry didn't interrupt. It was rare that Tom showed any emotion at the same level he had been doing that morning. Harry was treating it as if it was a special gift for him personally, smiling faintly, nodding, and making appropriate noises at the appropriate times.

One question that happened to drift into his mind was how he'd be able to get away from Tom to pretend to buy a wand. His real wand, the one from the future, was situated safely at the bottom of his messenger bag. He had retrieved it from his old rucksack earlier that morning when he pushed Tom out of his room, claiming that he couldn't get dressed properly if Tom was watching him. When Tom was out of the room, he'd removed two floorboards from under his bed which was where his magical possessions had been stored. While living at the Dursley's, he found that having removable floorboards to store things in was actually pretty useful. So he'd done the same thing and loosened the flooring in his new room.

"You'll just love Transfiguration, that's where you turn one thing into something else. Albeit, Dumbledore does teach the class, but it's still rather fun."

Harry glanced at Tom, offering a sentence for the first time. "You don't like Dumbledore that much?"

Tome grimaced. "I would like him more if he didn't favor those stupid _Gryffindors_ over everyone else. It's not fair, some of the things they get away with. And their intelligence level is, collectively, most likely the lowest in the school. They place too much value in bravery and heroic deeds, and not enough in studying the right spells to keep them alive."

"What if I become a Gryffindor?" Harry pondered, remembering his time in Hogwarts and not disagreeing with Tom in the slightest. "What if the hat places me in that house?"

Tom walked silently for a few moments, deeply thinking about that outcome of events. "I've told you before, Harry, a bit about Slytherin politics. It's a kill-or-be-killed kind of house where the weak become servants to the strong. Therefore, when I'm at Hogwarts, I act a bit, well, _differently_ than the 'me' you're used to seeing; I can't let my housemates see any of my weaknesses, Harry. I mean, to me it wouldn't really matter which House you're placed in because you're my best friend, but if you're not in Slytherin, for the sake of not being attacked by the rest of my housemates–verbally or magically–I might have to act… contemptibly towards you–but I wont really mean it. Would you hate me for it; for the way I'd treat you if you're sorted into Gryffindor?"

Harry knew that the Slytherins in his time were a nasty bunch when they wanted to be, and he was sure the original Death Eaters could be just as spiteful. And as much as he wanted to be by Tom's side in public, he wanted Tom to be safe in his house and not have to constantly check over his shoulder to make sure no one was pointing a wand at his head. And, since they had established friendship, Tom had never given Harry any reason to disbelieve in his kindness.

"I don't hate you, Tom. I could never hate you." Harry took a deep breath. _I'm probably going to regret this later._ "Even if you killed a thousand people, I don't think I'd really be able to truly hate you. I would probably become very annoyed with you, but you're my best friend. I don't think there's a thing you could do that would make me genuinely despise you."

The funny thing about that statement was that Harry really meant it, from the bottom of his heart. He'd steadily continued to get over the deaths of his parents and godfather, maturing, and watching Tom grow too. Being best friends for seven years and going through every hardship the world had thrown at them, helping each other when no one else extended a hand; their bond was as strong as the ones Harry had formed with Ron and Hermione, if not stronger.

Tom looked over at Harry and smiled warmly, grasping his hand and stringing their fingers together. "I don't think I could ever hate you either, Harry."

Harry gently swung their clasped hands back and forth.

"And if I am sorted into a different house, we can always rendezvous secretly in the middle of the night."

"I don't think so; the portraits would tell on us. They can travel into all the other frames in Hogwarts, you know. I think Professor Dippet has most of them spying on the inhabitants."

"Wouldn't they go to sleep at night?" Harry suggested, having snuck out of bed a fair enough number of times to know the portraits snored almost as loud as Ron.

"Maybe. I have passed by some during the day that were taking a nap. And I've heard some Gryffindors complaining about trying to get back into their common room but the portrait guarding the entrance was asleep."

"Then we should be able to meet up just fine."

"But there's also the teachers that are out on patrol, and the ghosts…"

"Fine," Harry huffed. "If Mr. Goody-two-shoes doesn't want to break a rule or two to meet up with his bestest friend in the whole world, we can just exchange secret glances from afar and communicate through simple letters written in our own special language that we create."

"And have an occasional reunion during the _day_ in an abandoned classroom, possibly," Tom added, playing along with Harry's fantasy. "Oh, we're here."

Tom dropped Harry's hand and entered the small pub, holding the door open for the younger boy, who found himself missing the warmth of his friends palm pressed against his.

"This is the Leaky Cauldron," Tom stated matter-of-factly. "It's the entrance to Diagon Alley through the muggle world. Come on then, let's go."

Harry looked around noticing the dining area at least was in a _lot_ better shape than it was in 1997. Maybe it had something to do with the different owners. He would have said it was because the ownership was different in the future, but behind the bar, cleaning empty glasses in the same fashion as he would be in sixty years, was the toothless bartender, Tom. Only not as toothless, Harry noted, when he looked up and smiled at the two boys. Harry nodded once in acknowledgement.

"Come on, Harry, this way." Tom strutted through the bar like he owned the place. It was an evolution of the old walk Harry was used to Tom using when they were around people he didn't trust or like. There was more power, more confidence, to it. The walk was obviously a part of the personality he'd created at Hogwarts. Harry obediently followed Tom out the backdoor into the tiny, closed courtyard behind the pub. "Watch closely." Tom took out his wand and tapped the brick wall like Hagrid had done all those years ago.

Suddenly all the bricks started moving away, clearing a path for them to walk through.

"Amazing!" Harry exaggerated, remembering to be properly surprised. "That was just like magic!"

Tom rolled his eyes. "That _was_ magic, dimwit." Harry stuck his tongue out at the insult. "Follow closely, I don't want you to get lost."

Harry did as he was told, used to being ordered around by Tom, and stuck close to his friend's back. There were quite a bit of people in Diagon Alley that day. He grabbed onto the back of Tom's shirt. The Alley was filled with shops he had seen before, but a few that he hadn't. There was a small store next to a pastry shop that looked like it was filled with muggle items and appropriately named _Muggle_.

Harry snorted. Couldn't they at least think up a better _name_?

There was another shop they passed that appeared to be a pet shop. Not remembering any shops with live animals before, other than _Eeylop's Owl Emporium_ and the_ Magical Menagerie_, he decided that would be a place to visit later for sure.

"Here we are. This building right here, Harry, is Gringotts. It's the wizarding bank." Harry looked up at the white marble building looming over him, attempting to blend in with the cloud-covered sky. "Don't stare at the Goblins too much when we go in, okay? They're the ones who run the bank, which is odd when you consider all the wars we–wizards–have engaged them in. Supposedly, in the lower levels, they even have _dragons_ guarding the money. Isn't that wonderful?" Tom walked up the steps and through the doors. Only when they were inside did Harry release his grip on Tom's back.

The air inside felt cool and a slight draft danced around Harry and Tom. It felt a great deal better inside then it did out in the humid, early August heat. Tom strode over to the nearest goblin and began discussing money with it, leaving Harry by the entrance. He was pretty sure the goblin was a man, on the basis that he'd never seen a female goblin. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if they even existed or if male goblins mated with one another and had strange male goblin pregnancies.

Tom pointed to him while continuing his conversation with the goblin. It stared at Harry, as if it were sizing him up, but ended up calling another goblin over. He whispered something to it, and the second goblin retreated into one of the many side rooms the grand hall had. It materialized again moments later, though, and handed the main goblin two pouches of money. The original goblin peered inside, checking the contents, before relinquishing them to Tom, who murmured his thanks and returned to Harry.

"Here you go." Tom handed him a bag. "This should cover your expenses. Granted, with the amount of money Hogwarts gives us we'll have to shop secondhand if we want to buy anything from the lady who brings food around on the train ride home."

"It's still more than we've ever procured while at Wool's."

"True," Tom agreed. "They never gave us money, though, so I don't know if you can really count that."

Harry shrugged and took one of the bags, walking out next to Tom back into the very unwelcome heat. "How'd you get this anyway?"

"Hogwarts supplies money for special cases, like us; cases that have no parents, no family, and no money. But don't bring it up to anyone at school. It's wiser to avoid letting anyone in on your financial situation unless you want them talking about it behind your back."

"Did that happen to you last year?"

Tom sneered. "No, Harry. It's common sense not to tell people you have no money, that you're poor. If you don't want their pity, scathing looks, or rude comments, keep it to yourself."

Harry didn't continue the topic.

"Gimme your list." Tom snatched Harry's list and quickly glanced over it. "I don't think you'll need to buy any of the books. You can just borrow the ones I used last year; they're all the same. That should leave us with quite a bit of extra spending money–yes _us_," Tom asserted when Harry opened his mouth. "You use my books, we pool our extra money together and split it evenly. That's only fair. Let's get you your robes first. We should go to Madame Malkin's. They aren't secondhand, but we can get them a bit bigger so you can grow into them. Come on, this way," Tom said, disappearing into the crowd. Harry, already knowing where the robe shop was, quickly went off in that general direction. He didn't like this overcrowded version of Diagon Alley. It was wrong of him to think, but he rather liked the Diagon Alley of 1997 more; the one where everyone was too afraid of Voldemort to actually come out and buy things.

He got to Madam Malkin's and pushed open the door, only to find Tom already inside, chatting with the lady behind the counter. They both turned to the door when they heard the bell tinkle, signaling someone had entered the shop.

"Harry," Tom called out, "I'm glad you made it. I was about to go back out and look for you. Didn't I tell you to stick close? You really could get lost in all the hubbub going on out there and never be found again, seeing as how you're so small."

"Ha, ha, very funny. It's your own fault for just taking off and leaving me on the steps of Gringotts to fend for myself–" Harry stopped. That would have been the perfect time to get lost and 'purchase' a wand. Why was he so oblivious to the chance moments fate threw at him?

The lady behind the counter looked at Harry and then Tom. "So he's the friend you were telling me about?" Tom nodded. "Right then. Come over here, dearie, and I'll take your measurements."

Harry inwardly sighed at the voice she was using but complied with her order. He walked behind a curtain that separated the front room of the store from the fitting room. The woman followed after him. "My name's Mathilda. You can call me Matty, if you like. I'm gonna take your measurements and get you your Hogwarts uniform, I am. Just stand on that stool over there and I'll be done before you can say 'Gobstones'."

The whole time she spoke, she was poking and prodding at Harry with her magical tape measure flying around him getting his height, inseam, arm length, and anything else it could. Harry stepped up on the stool and held his arms out like a 'T'. Mathilda took some notes down on a slip of parchment and then bustled off into the back room. Tom slipped around the drapes and sent an amused smirk in Harry's direction.

"Enjoying yourself?" Harry's eye twitched. "I thought so." Tom took a seat on one of the provided chairs and watched Harry as he was continuously circled by the fanatical tape measure.

Mathilda came back out of one of the storage rooms with lots of fabric in her arms.

"Alright. Try this on," she thrust a robe at Harry. He took it, uncomplainingly, seeing as how the over-excited measuring tape had finally stopped bothering him. It felt fine when he put it on. "Too loose. Here, this one." Harry shrugged off the first robe and accepted the second. "Too long. Next!" The third time he tried on a robe, Mathilda seemed satisfied but Tom wasn't.

"It needs to be a bit bigger. We don't want to have to come back next year to buy him more clothing because you provided us with something that fit too snugly."

"Don't tell me how to do my job," Mathilda snapped. It was the first time Harry had seen an adult snap at Tom, but then again, Tom never usually corrected them. He politely agreed with anything they said but somehow managed to end the conversation with them seeing things his way.

"The do it correctly so you don't need directions," Tom scoffed, crossing his arms, obviously unimpressed with the store clerk.

Mathilda viciously sucked a breath of air in through her nostrils before ripping the robe off Harry and taking the small pile she'd brought out with her back into storage, mumbling about having to recalculate his measurements.

"You know, you could have been more polite about that," Harry pointed out, shifting his weight so most of it rested on his right foot.

"I could have, but then the argument would have taken longer and I am unwilling to waste most of my day in a clothing store when all you need is a uniform and there are much more interesting places to explore."

"How about this?" Mathilda returned holding a new robe with a fake smile plastered on her face. It was obvious she didn't like being ordered about by a twelve-year-old. Harry took the material from her and stuck his arms through the sleeves, looking at Tom for confirmation.

"Yes, that's right. That's the size his clothes should be in, understand?"

"Of course," Mathilda replied sweetly, but Harry distinctly heard her mutter 'Your Highness' as she passed him to get the rest of his clothing. Harry stepped down off the stool and he and Tom returned to the front of the store where the counter to pay was. Mathilda followed after them shortly and placed three bags upon the polished surface.

"That'll be four galleons and seventeen knuts," she informed them, pursing her lips in displeasure and staring at their current clothing, skeptical that they could pay for Harry's new ones.

"Oh, right. I forgot to tell you about wizard money, didn't I, Harry?" Tom looked sheepish for a second but quickly regained his composure. "Let me see your pouch." Harry brought it out of his pocket and handed it to Tom. He dug through it and pulled out a galleon, a sickle and a knut. Harry, who wasn't supposed to know what they were yet, looked properly befuddled. "This little bronze one is a knut. There are twenty-nine bronze knuts to a silver sickle and seventeen silver sickles to a gold galleon. That's it. These coins are what wizards use for money, so don't loose them, 'k?"

Harry's head bobbed up and down. "Mmhmm. Got it."

Tome smiled and handed Harry back his money pouch. "Good. Now, here's your first test to see if you were paying attention." Tom smirked. "Pay Mathilda."

Harry rolled his eyes at Tom's poorly developed quiz. _Idiot._ He stepped up to the counter and placed four galleons and a sickle in Mathilda's outstretched hand. Though her attitude was frosty a mere moment ago, her blue eyes betrayed the humor she felt towards the situation.

"Four galleons and a sickle. Your change is twelve knuts." She handed the change to Harry and Tom picked up the bags. "There you go. Have a nice day. Please come again."

"We'll never take our business there again," Tom informed Harry when they were back on the street. "That woman was very rude and I think she overcharged us. Plus, these might be newer and of a higher quality, but the secondhand robe shop doesn't have know-it-all attendants."

"She wasn't that bad," Harry defended, but he was silenced with a single withering look from Tom.

"You might not need books, but I do," Tom noted, changing the topic. "And there might be something there you'll want to get to read for fun. Come. The store is further down, near Ollivanders wand shop. Maybe you can get a wand instead whilst I get my books. It's not exactly a complicated procedure."

They pushed through the oncoming mass of people crowded into the narrow Alley in silence and with moderate difficulty. Harry became separated from Tom many times and had to dash around slow-moving or completely stationary people to catch up again. He almost crashed into Tom's back when the older boy came to a full halt in front of the wand-maker's shop.

"This isn't going to work," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut in annoyance. "I had hoped to show you around the Alley, but that was squashed with the amount of people who decided to come out today. Our visit here will take much too long and we won't be able to make it back before curfew if we try to shop together; we need different sets of things…"

"We could split up and meet up later," Harry suggested, knowing Tom's rational mind would see the suggestion as the best course of action.

"I suppose we must…" The expression on Tom's face made him look as though he's swallowed pure lemon juice and Harry knew he wasn't happy about how their day was turning out. "We'll meet back inside The Leaky Cauldron at, say, four? Don't splurge too much, though I know it's awfully tempting. There are much better things we'll be able to get later if we're resourceful, remember that."

"I know Tom," Harry replied dully, rolling his eyes. "You tell me that anytime we get our hands on money."

"Because it's an important tip you should remember and live by." Harry watched Tom scan the crowd and noticed a hint of worry hiding behind the annoyance. "Are you sure you'll be okay on your own?"

Harry reached out and gripped Tom's sleeve, causing the other boy to face him. Smiling the adorable smile he'd learned could get him anything he wanted from just about anyone, he said, "Don't worry about me, Tom. I survived a year without you, a few hours alone shouldn't kill me."

Tom turned pink and mumbled something about the difference between the wizarding world and the muggle one before sending his own small smile Harry's way.

"Alright, but if you haven't shown up by the meeting time, I won't be letting you out on your own again until you've started growing facial hair."

"Always over-dramatizing everything is not an appealing attribute to boast, Tom. But I promise I won't be late," Harry hurriedly assured as Tom's eyes narrowed. "I think you should go buy your books now, and I'll get my wand. The more time we waste standing here, the less time we have to battle our way through the crowd." He let go of Tom's clothing and stepped into the wand shop, momentarily forgetting that he didn't actually need one.

Mentally berating himself for his moment of stupidity, he was about to leave but remembered Tom was still out there. No one had shown up to attend him yet, despite the tinkling bell that had sounded upon his entry, so he productively used the time to wander about the tiny front of the store and covertly check through the window to see if Tom was still standing outside.

_No? Time to–_

"My, you're out of place aren't you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry jumped and spun around, eyes wide with shock. Not only had he not heard the wand-maker enter the storefront, but he had also addressed him by a name Harry hadn't heard in years. One Ollivander shouldn't know.

"How do you–?"

"I know a great many things, Mr. Potter," Ollivander explained with a mysterious smile. "Not much can fool these eyes of mine, old they may be. However, they can still tell that you are neither from this time, nor are you in your true form."

"But that still doesn't account for your knowledge of my _name_," Harry stressed. "My _surname_ that _no one_ in this time should know. It also doesn't explain how you recognized me as me when our first meeting is fifty years from now."

"Everyone has a magic about them; an identifying magic, you could call it. My eyes show me that you are much older than you appear, but it's the magic surrounding you that reveals who you are. Although," Ollivander frowned, "your magic is mixed–polluted, somehow."

"But how do you know I'm not from this… time?"

"I told you; everything is revealed in the magic surrounding your body. To human beings it is invisible, felt only when the witch or wizard is very powerful, but never _seen_."

"Then…" Harry hesitated, eyeing the old man before him suspiciously. "You aren't…human?"

Ollivander's smile widened. "Oh, I'm human enough. Long ago, however, one of my ancestors decided to carry out a very dark, very _illegal_, ritual involving the consumption of a dragon's eyes. Ever since then, superior eyesight has been a common trait in my family tree. It allows us to be above average at both creating and choosing wands for customers."

"But you told me it's the wand that chooses the wizard."

"And a wand cannot work with the wizard if it does not mesh well with his magic," Ollivander dismissed. "Now, I do believe we should find you yours."

"Oh, no thanks," Harry said, shaking is head. "I already have a wand–"

"But that wand is from the future," Ollivander countered, ignoring Harry's protest. "Don't bother coming up with any excuses while I'm gone, and don't wander off or I might have to let slip to the headmaster of Hogwarts that one of his new pupils doesn't belong."

Stunned that he had just been threatened by a man who had always seemed so kind, Harry stayed exactly where Ollivander left him until the man returned with an armful of wand boxes.

"Ah, I'm so glad you stayed, Mr. Potter."

"Evans," Harry corrected, stepping up to the counter. If Ollivander wanted to go through every wand in the store until he was satisfied that none would suit Harry, the least he could do was humor the old man. "My name now is Harry Evans."

"Mmm, yes. It would most certainly cause a fair number of problems for you if it were to be known that you hold a place in the Potter family. There aren't many left now, and your sudden appearance in the world would kick up quite a fuss. Here." He held a wand out for Harry. "Apple, ten inches, unicorn hair."

Harry's fingertips brushed over the extended wand handle, but it was yanked back before he had a chance to do anything with it.

"No, no. This won't do. None of these will do. It seems you'll need one of the more rare wands. How delightful!" Harry was slightly disturbed by the strange way Ollivander's eyes began sparkling. "I haven't had to give one of those away in a decade–but then, I should have known from the beginning you'd require a more powerful wand. It takes a great deal of power and magic to be able to travel so far backwards in time _and_ change your outward looks."

"It was an accident," Harry quickly corrected. "I didn't mean for this to happen at all."

"But, as a result of your magic, it did. Magic works in strange ways, Mr. Evans, and the fact that you didn't mean for the magic to do to you what it ended up doing only proves how powerful you truly are," Ollivander stated, seriously. "And that power would best be controlled by a wand of equal capacity." He shuffled back into the labyrinth of towering wand shelves and left Harry to ponder his words.

"I don't understand," Harry concluded when Ollivander came out again with more, dustier boxes. "Why didn't a more powerful wand choose me before? I mean, you told me the world could expect great things from me when I got my old wand, but you never said anything about power…"

"Time passes and people change, their magic along with them. You're obviously different now then you were when you were younger. The experiences you've had, the trials you've faced, little, big, memorable, or easily forgotten, all these things can change a person and you seem to have changed. Black walnut, ten-and-a-quarter inches, hippogriff feather."

Harry took the wand in his hand and the light fixture hanging from the ceiling above him exploded, sending shards of crystal raining down on him and Ollivander.

"Sorry, sir, I–"

"Nothing to worry about, easily fixable!" Ollivander snatched the wand away and replaced it with one of dogwood, eleven inches, with a vela-hair core. This time, Ollivander had to duck a purple jet of light that ended up burning a hole in the painting of a daisy field behind him.

"My, you are a tricky customer, but we'll find you a wand, even if it takes the whole day!"

"Can't I just keep the wand I have now?" Harry pleaded, not having an entire day to waste and knowing Tom would stick to his word and never let Harry out of his sight until he was sporting a beard like Dumbledore's.

"Weren't you paying attention to what I told you earlier? Your old wand won't work as well as it did before since you've evolved. It's not an uncommon occurrence with wizards for them to have to replace their wands multiple times throughout their life, but if you want your spells to be better, stronger, and have more of an ability to cast, you should get a new wand today. I won't let you leave until we've found one either; my pride as a wand-maker won't allow it."

So Harry was stuck there until he found a new wand. The pile continued increasing in the same way it had during his first visit to the store. He had no idea Ollivander owned that many "rare" wands. Time passed and the amount of shoppers passing outside lessened. As wand-after-wand was brought to him and taken away, Harry began to wonder if the whole story about him needing a new wand was simply a story fabricated by Ollivander to get his money.

"Ginkgo, twelve-and-a-half inches, chimera scale and acromantula web."

Not the first double-core wand that Harry'd been presented with, he disinterestedly took the wand, waiting for an even bigger explosion to destroy the store completely, allowing him to leave.

Only, it never happened.

The second his fingers curled around the light brown handle, a heated pulse shot up Harry's arm, leaving the appendage tingling. The small hairs all over his body stood on end, electrified by the magic that seemed to be surging out of his very pores in greater amounts than ever before. A breeze, impossible to have been in existence, swirled around him, fluttering his hair away from his face.

"It seems this wand chose it's wizard."

Something about the humorless, solemn tone made Harry tear his eyes away from new wand and look Ollivander. "You don't sound too thrilled about it's choice."

The wand-maker sighed. "Because I'm not." He rubbed his face tiredly, setting his piercing, serious gaze on Harry. "No one in Britain was ever supposed to acquire that particular wand. I was going to present it as a gift to my friend, Gregorovich, next week when I visited him."

"Why?"

"Part of your core, the acromantula web, is illegal in Britain. It has been for the past hundred-and-sixty years. The Ministry banned it as a material in wand-making and confiscated all such wands when they realized the wielders of such wand had a particular affinity with the Dark Arts."

"Then why do you even have one?" Harry asked, astonished that Ollivander had been in possession of an illegal wand.

"It fell into my ownership whilst I was traveling the Asian continent earlier this summer collecting materials to create new wands. I never thought it would _choose_ someone…" Ollivander worriedly looked Harry up-and-down. "But I can't take it from you now. It won't work right with another person until you've died, and who knows in what year that will be."

"Then I guess I'll just have to keep it," Harry decided aloud, sounding uncaring but on the inside, ecstatic. This new wand was much more powerful than his previous one, and he didn't want to let it go.

"Yes, I guess you will… but tell no one of its second core unless you trust them above all others. A chimera scale is used in many wands, though usually when doubling up with something else to make it more powerful. Do not take your money out," Ollivander commanded as Harry reached inside his pocket to retrieve his money pouch. "I feel responsible for the burden you will carry with this wand and am therefore giving it to you as a gift. Besides, you will return in the future for your fist visit, so it isn't like I'm losing business."

"I guess not…"

"Excellent. Now, if you'll just hand it over so I can put it in a bag for you…"

Harry reluctantly handed over his new wand but graciously accepted the bag he was given. He thanked Ollivander for his help and turned to leave the store.

"Oh, and Mr. Evens?" Harry looked over his shoulder with his hand on the doorknob.

"Yes?"

"True, your wand-type used to belong to an abundance of Dark witches and wizards, but do try to prove the Ministry wrong."

Harry stiffened for a split second and smiled, tight-lipped, at Ollivander.

"I'll do my best, sir."

On the street, Harry made his way through the less-dense crowd towards the stationary store. On the outside he seemed calm, but his insides were boiling and he was seething with unseen rage. How _dare_ Ollivander tell him what to do and what not to do? He had no right to talk, what with his ancestors doing strange things with dragons! It wasn't as if Harry was about to go Avada Kedavra the whole of Diagon Alley the moment he stepped out of the store.

_And what was he even doing with this wand anyway? I mean, he gave me an excuse, but it was a rather unintelligent move on his part to bring it into this country at all. He should have never brought it out either if he knew it was illegal, not that I'm not grateful for his momentary lack of good judgment. Even the strangest of wands will act up at some point in time… _

After he picked out and paid for his writing utensils, his next stop was the Cauldron shop down the street, then the Apothecary across from that. He ended up skipping over _Quality Quidditch_ altogether. Harry Evans, unlike Harry Potter, had never ridden a broom or even heard of Quidditch. That was one thing Tom had refrained from writing down.

Harry checked a clock in the window of a watch store for the time and noticed that he still had some left before he was due to meet up with Tom. Curiosity reminding him of the odd pet shop he'd seen when he and Tom had first entered that Alley, that's where his feet ended up taking him. Anticipating a large variety of wizard-pets as he studied the sign that read _Zamarr's Domestics_, he pushed open the door and stalked inside. The different sounds made by the animals in cages, combined, were nearly deafening. Harry made his way through the maze of animal enclosures, peering at everything inside. It would have been a lie to say he wasn't the tiniest bit putout to only see the typical everyday creatures. He had been hoping for something more exotic…

"See anything you like?"

Harry whipped around only to come face-to-face with a young man in his twenties. He had shoulder-length brown hair slick with an amount of grease that rivaled Professor Snape. Thick, round glasses rested on his nose while beady eyes behind them took in Harry's form.

"Erm, I was just looking." The man raised an eyebrow as if to say 'I can see that'. Harry gulped. "I was hoping to catch a glimpse of a more, uh, _unconventional_ animal, I guess. But seeing as how you don't seem to have any in stock, I'll just be going then." Harry tried to walk past but the man grabbed Harry's arm, studying him for a long moment. Not wanting to set off a possibly mentally unstable man, Harry complied, keeping still as he was assessed.

"You aren't lying to me, now, are you, boy?" Harry fiercely shook his head.

"I would really like to see something more magical than–" his let a condescending gaze fall on a caged liter of kittens "–muggle."

The clerk chuckled darkly, sending shivers down Harry's spine. "I think I can confide in you a location where you might find something to suit your taste in… _flamboyant_ creatures."

He pulled Harry through the store up to a dirty counter and brought out a quill and some ink. Tearing a piece of parchment from a long scroll situated there, he proceeded to scribble a note onto it. "Here."

Harry looked down at the dirty piece of parchment and read _LaVaughn's Beasts, Zamarr_.

"That's my brother's shop in Knockturn Alley. You can only get in by referral and I'm referring you." The man, Zamarr, gave a twisted grin that showed off his poor dentistry. "It's a few shops down to the left of Borgin and Burkes. I hope you find what you're looking for there, Mr.–?"

"Evans." Harry used his faux name as a means of goodbye and briskly left the eerie store. He mentally kicked himself for giving away the name he was using in this timeline and hoped it didn't come back to haunt him.

Examining the piece of parchment he'd been given, he weighted his options.

He had no real desire to visit Knockturn Alley, having been there many times before and never encountered a pleasant experience, but he really wanted to look at some real magical animals. He was quite fascinated by them, having grown up in the muggle world, and was always disappointed every time Hagrid screwed up Care of Magical Creatures; not that he would ever tell the half-giant to his face.

In the end, Harry's curiosity overrode his better judgment, and he started off in the direction of Knockturn Alley.

When he reached the entrance to the second Alley, the corner of his mouth twitched up in amusement. Even though there was an overabundance of shoppers in Diagon Alley, they all gave Knockturn Alley wide berth.

_It's not as if they'll be cursed for momentarily stepping across the dividing line._

As if trying to prove a point to the ignorant beings around him, Harry waltzed purposefully into the new area, ignoring the foreboding aura the seeped from the cracks between buildings; and nothing happened. His head didn't explode, no limbs were severed, and he didn't fall to his knees screaming in pain. Satisfied and summoning up the rest of his Gryffindor courage, he carried on with his personal mission.

There weren't as many people in Knockturn Alley, but none of the ones who chose to do their business there gave Harry a second glance. It was a nice feeling, not to be recognized.

Paying close attention to the store around him, Harry carefully searched out the sister pet shop. Whenever he'd visited Knockturn Alley in his time, he'd never actually given any notice to the stores located in the Dark sector of the wizarding shopping center. This time, though, he did and it was fascinating. Knockturn Alley was exactly like its sister Diagon Alley, only for Dart Arts. There was a bookstore, a clothing store, an Apothecary–everything except a Quidditch supply store or a Gringotts-equivalent. Then again, both of those were right down the street in the other direction, so who actually needed them here? Harry decided that the next time he came to this dark, depressing back lane he would take a look inside all the shops.

At last, after a few minutes of fruitless searching, Harry stumbled across _LaVaughn's Beasts_. The curtains were drawn, and the door was closed.

_Definitely shady_. Harry squared his shoulders and marched right up to the door. Seconds after he gave two short knocks, a panel at the top of the door slid open and a pair of midnight blue eyes looked down on him.

"This isn't the place for children. Go back to your mummy," came a gruff, wheezy voice from behind the door. Harry showed no fear to the unseen man behind the door and held up slip of paper given to him by Zamarr for the eyes to see. He watched them move horizontally, scanning the three words scribbled down and, just as suddenly as it had opened, the panel swished shut. The door swung wide on its hinges and a burly arm shot out, gripping Harry and pulling him inside using brute strength before the door closed again with a nearly inaudible _click_.

"Never though Zamarr would send a kid over," the owner of the arm grumbled. Harry decided that he must be LaVaughn. He looked exactly like Zamarr, minus the glasses.

Harry looked around. Contrary to the illusion the shop's exterior gave off, the interior was quite bright and filled with–

_Well, these beasts are definitely fantastic. _

All the animals in the cages he could see looked as though they had some sort of magical property. He saw some cornish pixies–like the ones that _incompetent_ Lockhart let loose in second year–and snakes of different shapes, sizes, and colors. He also saw a cage containing, what appeared to be, an Augurey. There were more animals in the front room, but Harry guessed that the more dangerous, probably illegal creatures would be in the back.

LaVaughn had retired to a stool behind the counter as soon as Harry began browsing, and was currently engrossed in a well-worn Quidditch magazine. Harry walked toward the black dividing drapes, and pushed through.

He wasn't disappointed.

Inside the huge, magically expanded room were many creatures Harry had never seen before. Insides buzzing with excitement, he started his self-guided tour of the zoo-like setup. Beside each cage was a small placard he surmised carried information about the beast inside.

The first cage he came across had a miniature golden bird with ruby red eyes, pruning itself. Reading the provided information, Harry frowned at the lack thereof.

_Snidget: Class 4_

_Well this isn't very helpful, _he thought indignantly, moving on. If he wanted to find out any more on the creatures, he would probably have to actually _read_ his _Monster Book of Monsters_; but he wasn't in the mood to have his fingered chomped on anytime soon. Still, he had expected there to be more than just a single word explaining the beast to him

_Tebo: Class 4; Invisibility_

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow at the empty tank. _And if no one can see your invisible creature, how are they supposed to know if it's there?_ He was becoming less deluded with this circus as his tour continued.

_Lenthifold: Class 5_

He couldn't help but stare at the unmoving coat on the ground in obvious wonder. He'd learnt about lenthifolds when he'd been studying up on the Patronus charm, but had never actually seen one. They would pretend to be an innocent coat, act well and play the part of a motionless article of clothing. But as soon as night fell and the owner was asleep, it attacked, strangling the life out of its victim.

Harry shuddered. Sometimes, he thought, the wizarding world was not the safest place to live, what with all the dangerous tricks and illusions it easily brought into ones life.

Shrugging away his minute concern, he peered into the next tank. It reached from the floor to the ceiling for obvious reasons that made him wonder whether he should immediately turn around and make a speedy exit from the store and Knockturn Alley altogether. Inside the glass container, huddled together in the back corner, were two small children with slightly Elvish features. They saw him and immediately rushed over, pressing themselves against the glass. Their innocent eyes were wide and overflowing with hope that Harry would be their savior. Their lips stretched into small, benign smiles as they pawed at the thick glass preventing them from leaving.

Not knowing if it was magic that made them appear as children or if they really were human, Harry glanced at their placard.

_Erkling: Class 4; Carnivorous. Keep away from children._

Shocked and disbelieving, he turned his gaze back on the "Erkling" and ended up taking several steps back in surprise. Their innocent beams had dissolved into twin, equally vicious grins and Harry could make out the rows of sharp pointy teeth peaking out from behind their lips. One even had the gall to flick its tongue out and quickly run the appendage over its lips, eying Harry's small form.

_Moving on. _

Harry didn't know why it came as such a surprise to see the dangerous creatures in the shop when he'd been hoping for them the entire way over.

He let his eyes travel over the rows of glass containers, some covered, others open. He didn't want to look through the rest if there were no legitimate descriptions and he wasn't going to buy anything, and he wasn't about to make a purchase and attempt to sneak it into Hogwarts. Turning to leave, a cage near the entrance caught his attention. Inside was a rather large serpent.

Snakes were considered "dark" which was why they weren't in the Diagon Alley shop, but Harry didn't understand how a snake that wasn't a Basilisk could be back here. Because of Hargid's teaching methods, he hadn't learned of any magical snakes during his time in Care of Magical Creatures. The only other he knew of was an Ashwinder, and he had only become aware of their existence when Porofessor Snape had him write an essay on the properties the eggs of an Ashwinder could have on a potion.

_Runespore: Class 4; Extremely Venomous_

Curious and being the only one in the back room, Harry pressed himself up against the glass, taking note that the beast had three heads.

_"Hell?"_ All three of the snake's heads popped up in bewilderment, and three sets of eyes landed on a chuckling Harry.

_"He speaks!"_

_"Enchanting."_

_"He's a liar."_

Harry pursed his lips together in annoyance with the third head. "_How would you know if I'm a liar or not? You've just met me."_

The Runespore's right head swung back and forth. _"Do not mind the left one. He doesn't trust anyone. It becomes rather tiresome, though, when trying to make another's acquaintance."_

The left head glared at the right one. "_I resent that. You always put me down simply because I point out your flaws."_

The right head turned to the left one. _"I only put you down because of your overly-suspicious attitude and because you don't seem to know when to shut up."_

Harry, worried that he had somehow caused the other two heads argument, looked at the middle head. It was smiling peacefully with a far-off expression plastered on it's face and it's eyes glazed over. It was odd for him to see so many expressions on a snake. He didn't think they were possibly of showing any human-like emotion on their face. _"Do they always bicker like this?"_

The middle head nodded. "_Always. It's because of them that I never get a good night's sleep. Sometimes I wish that they would both just drop dead." _The other two heads stopped fighting with each other and turned their death glares on the middle head.

_"I wish _you_ would drop dead!" _the left head spat with fiery passion._ "If it weren't for you we wouldn't be stuck here in this cage!"_

_"It's not his fault–"_

_"Oh yes, you're quite right. I'd completely forgotten about _you_.__ It was this idiot's obliviousness coupled with _your_ brilliant plan that got us where we are today."_

The middle head just swung back and forth before dropping back down onto the floor. The other two heads stared at the middle one, the left with unhidden disgust, but Harry looked on in slight admiration. He didn't think he would be able to survive with two other personalities on either side of him always fighting. He thought that the middle head was amazing for being able to tune them out.

The left head didn't seem to hold the same high esteem of the middle as Harry though. _"Lazy fool."_

The right head bared its fangs, spitting with rage. "_Don't call him that."_

Not liking where the disagreement between the snake's heads seemed to be going, Harry slowly started backing away from the Runespore's container. "_I'll just be going then…"_

_"Why won't you two ever stop bickering?" _the middle head moaned in annoyance from its resting spot on the floor. _"Why can't you ever give me the peace of silence? Why won't you just die?"_

_"Don't you dare tell me to die!" _the left head spat, flicks of venom flying off its fangs and showering its counterparts. _"You're the one who should die! You're a useless waste of space. You can't even _move_ straight without bumping into me! I don't know why _it–_," _the left head shot the right one a condescending glare, "–_insists on defending you when I know he's just as fed up with you as I am!"_

"_Don't put words into my mouth!" _the right head screeched. _"I may have found him to be a bit of a bother at times, but never as much as I have felt about you! He's right; you should die and leave us free from your constant condescension."_

_"Then why don't we kill him?"_ the middle one questioned lazily. "_You don't seem to care for him and I don't particularly like him, so why don't we serve him death? After all, two against one are much better…odds!"_

With his last word, the middle head sprung at the left, digging its fangs into the scales and holding tightly as the other thrashed and shrieked in pain.

"_I'll kill you, I'll _kill _you–"_

His words of promise were silenced as the left head struck at his throat. Yellow, slit-eyes widened in fury and the left's forked tongue twitched spasmodically as blood seeped through his wounds past his attackers teeth, creeping up his own throat and out the sides of his mouth, choking him, murdering him.

Harry watched the scene in frozen horror before quickly making his escape back into the front of the store. LaVaughn was no longer reading behind the desk, and a swift scan of the store told Harry that he wasn't in the front room. Thankful that the shop owner was not around, Harry made for the door, eager to escape before the tragedy in the back room was realized.

_"You shouldn't have provoked them like that."_

Harry swiveled and took a steadying step backwards from the motion, eyes locked on the snake that had just spoken to him.

_"Nagini?" _he asked, surprised and unable to help himself from feeling a stir of curiosity. The snake in question was identical aesthetically, but much smaller than the Horcrux he'd seen in the future–only about three feet in length and no bigger around than his wrist–and was lounging on a flat rock heated by an overhanging light fixture in her own glass cage.

The green snake looked at him with only mild interest and blinked slowly. "_You call me 'Nagini' as if you know me, yet I have no recollection of ever having met you before."_

_"Well…"_ Harry hesitated. _"I do… sort of… It's more like you resemble a snake I once knew a-a long time ago…"_

Nagini hissed softly in understanding. _"I have never met another snake like me; neither has the smelly human who owns this store. But that does not mean there aren't others out there. The world is big." _Nagini raised her head and inch and tilted it to the side. _"What does it mean, 'Nagini'? If I'm not mistaken, the names humans give usually have some sort of meaning accompanying them."_

_"In my language, Nagini means God or Goddess. The name changes based on gender, I would assume."_

_"Nagini," _Nagini said slowly, tasting the name. _"I like it. I permit you to call me by that name, so long as it does not stir up painful memories of the serpent you once knew."_

_"It doesn't," _Harry firmly reassured.

_"Good."_ Nagini slithered up to the front of the glass and raised herself up to be eye-level with Harry. _"And your name?"_

_"Harry Evans."_

_"Well then, Harry, now that we have made each other's acquaintance, I feel the best course of action to be taken would be you helping me escape from this prison. It is only proper that I should become the familiar of the one who bestowed upon me my name."_

Harry frowned. It wasn't as if he particularly disliked Nagini, just…

_"I don't think I have the funds available to purchase you."_ And he didn't. If it was the future, he'd have the whole Potter fortune and the Black fortune left to him by his parents and Sirius to use as he saw fit, but at this moment in the past, he was a small orphan boy with not even a galleon to his name.

_"That's fine," _Nagini dismissed, unperturbed. "_He doesn't like selling us anyway. He gains pleasure in watching us attack those who stick their hands into our tanks."_

Harry cocked his head to the side in puzzlement. "_Why would anyone willingly stick their hand into any of these tanks? It doesn't take a reptile specialist to realize that the majority of all the snakes in this room are poisonous."_

_"It's part of the special here. If you can manage, without magic, to procure one of us, you can keep your prize, free of charge. The human likes watching others suffer in pain, so he made that little arrangement. So far, many have tried and few have succeeded."_

_"And you want me to stick my hand in and get you." _It wasn't a question; it didn't need to be. The answer was obvious, he just wasn't quite sure if he wanted to.

As if sensing his unease at the situation, Nagini let out a low, soothing hiss. "_I promise I won't bite you. I have no reason to. It is true that many have attempted to take me and I have attacked each and every contestant, but if I had allowed them to take me, it would have been the same as living here, or worse. I would have rather waited here until someone better came along instead of putting myself into the exact same environment. But you are different. You can speak the language. We can converse with one another, and I can inform you when you are becoming an annoyance rather than simply attacking you." _

Nagini paused, waiting for the explanation to settle in Harry's mind. "_Please, Harry. Take me away."_

Harry bit his lip but didn't answer. He stood and turned his back on Nagini, looking at the deserted counter where a poorly painted sign read _Ask About Our Special Deals._ He snorted. The only _special_ thing anyone would get out of that deal would be a trip to St. Mungo's.

He stalked over to the counter and patiently waited for LaVaughn to return. He didn't expect the wait to be long, and it wasn't. LaVaughn appeared to be the only salesperson working in the store, and no one in their right mind would leave a shop unattended for a long period of time in case a customer attempted to become a thief.

LaVaughn noticed Harry at the counter and wiped his oily hair out of his face with an equally dirty hand. "See anything you like?" he asked with a depraved grin, showing off yellow, rotting teeth.

Harry nodded and pointed to the "Specials" sign. "What deal is that talking about?" If Harry hadn't been watching carefully, he would have missed the malicious flicker that passed quickly through the older man's eyes.

"I'm glad you asked. You see, we have a little deal here at this store. It's not well known, but it's one of the best you'll find anywhere. If you're able to retrieve a snake without it biting you, and without using magic, you get to keep it for free. Of course, no one who's heard of it ever partakes because they think they'll get bitten, but I'll tell you a secret." He leaned in, and Harry was repulsed by the smell of the man. Had he not showered in a month? Harry wouldn't be surprised. "The snakes are harmless. They've never bitten anyone. I've tamed them myself, so I would know. How about it? Would you like to try for your very own snake? You look like you'll be starting up at Hogwarts soon, and I bet all the other Slytherins will just about _die_ of jealously when you show off your newest familiar."

Outwardly, Harry nodded while on the inside his upper lip curled. Did LaVaughn think him stupid? Not only was his attempt at winning Harry over an easily spotted fabrication, but it stated in every Hogwarts letter sent to every Hogwarts student that the only pets allowed were cats, toads, and owls.

LaVaughn clapped his hands together in excitement. "Excellent! Now then, why don't you go pick out a snake; any snake you'd like! It doesn't matter the size, shape or color, if you can get it out, it's yours!"

Harry was completely appalled by LaVaughn. To anyone on the street he looked like an eleven-year-old child, yet LaVaughn was about to let him be bitten; poisoned. He was encouraging Harry to hurt, possible kill himself since he was so small, and doing nothing to stop it.

"This one," he said innocently, pointing at Nagini and looking back at LaVaughn. He almost let his disgust towards the man slip through his mask when LaVaughn's face lit up with sadistic glee at the snake Harry had chosen. Harry knew many people had tried for Nagini and was sure LaVaughn was imagining his small form writing on the ground in pain. He knew Nagini was extremely poisonous from the encounter Mr. Weasley had had with her.

Harry turned back to look at Nagini and smirked. LaVaughn would be in for a rude surprise.

"Ahh, a fine specimen. Let me tell you something, young man. This snake right here is my crown jewel. Extraordinarily rare. The only one I've ever found of it's kind, and tremendously poisonous too. It's an unknown variety that even I haven't found the cure to yet, though I've only had her a few months. But don't let that discourage you. Like I said before, none of the snakes I own have ever bitten anyone before." LaVaughn strode over to Harry and opened slid back the lid of Nagini's container. "Just stick your arm in and let her slither on up."

Harry prayed to Merlin that Nagini wasn't lying earlier. With a deep breath, he cautiously inched his arm into the cage and watched Nagini make her way over to him. She flicked out her tongue, sniffing. LaVaughn was practically vibrating with excitement. He knew what ought to come next.

_"Thank you, Harry Evans."_ It was a whisper and none but a Parseltongue would understand the meaning behind the hiss.

LaVaugn's jaw dropped as Nagini, instead of biting Harry like she was supposed to, glided up Harry's arm and around his shoulder's.

For a small moment, Harry felt like Voldemort.

He smirked at LaVaughn's dumbstruck face. "I guess you were right. Thanks for the snake."

Harry quickly made his way out of the store before LaVaughn could come out of his stupor. He would have thought up a better line to give the man rather than the one he did, but he just wanted to get out of there before the man decided that Harry had cheated or tried to get Nagini back by force. Harry ducked around a building and turned his head to Nagini, who was resting peacefully on his shoulder. "_Nagini?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Would you mind terribly if I asked you to travel in my messenger bag, here at my side, instead of on my shoulder? I don't really want people asking questions, or trying to take you away from me."_

_"I underssstand."_She traveled down Harry's other side and into the open bag.

_"Thanks. Oh, and before I forget. My friend, Tom Riddle, he can speak to snakes too–"_

_"That's wonderful,"_ Nagini exclaimed, elated. _"Two speakers at once; I really am a lucky snake."_

_"–but you can't talk to him."_

Nagini's face fell in disappointment. "_Why not? If I wish to talk to him, I shall. You may be my familiar, but you can't stop me."_

_"He doesn't know I can talk to snakes," _Harry admitted. _"And he doesn't know I know he can either. So until he admits it to me or I decide to tell him, we need to keep my ability a secret."_

_"That's silly," _Nagini scoffed. _"If you know he can speak the language then you should come out to him. If you two are friends like you claim, then he should feel joy at having another like him. Any serpent would be overjoyed at meeting a speaker and they shall all be jealous of me for I will soon know two."_

_"I see where you're coming from, Nagini, but there's also the possibility that he'll hate me for it. It would mean that he's not the only one who can do it and it might make him feel less special. I don't want him to hate me…"_

Harry didn't completely believe his words, having come to know Tom better and better as the years passed, but he didn't want to risk the possibility.

"_Human emotions are a strange thing to comprehend,"_ Nagini decided after a moment of silence. _"I still think you should tell him, but I will keep your secret until you are ready."_

Harry smiled. _"Thank you, Nagini. Now, let's be off."_

He walked back out onto the dimly lit street, and hurried back to Diagon Alley. He was very careful not to jostle Nagini too much on the way. He didn't want her to become angry with him, especially when her bite really was worse than her bark.

Diagon Alley had much less people wandering around than when it was mid-day. Harry got a nervous feeling in his gut and quickened his pace, hoping that he wasn't too late for his meeting with Tom. He got to the brick wall that separated the shoppers from the pub and tapped it with his wand. As soon as the bricks started moving out of the way, he was already pushing though. He opened the back door to the Leaky Cauldron and wandered inside, spotting Tom at a table in the corner.

But he wasn't alone.

A young boy who reminded Harry quite a bit of Lucius Malfoy was seated there, elegantly sipping his drink along with Tom. There was another boy with shoulder length black hair sitting next to the Malfoy-look-alike, his back to Harry. It was obvious from the expressions he saw Tom making that the three were friends, and he assumed that they were the two he'd made in Slytherin that year; Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black.

_Maybe that's why he wanted us to come to the Alley today in particular._

Harry wasn't sure if he should go join the trio or wait at a table of his own for other two to leave. He looked around and observed two older couples chatting with each other at the bar. One pair had to be Abraxas' parents, so Harry guessed that the other two people were the Orion's.

It was at that moment–when he had decided that he should just get a table by himself–that some drunk bastard bumped into him. Ordinarily, this would have been fine, if not for two things. One, he hadn't turned to Harry and, in his drunken state, decided to make a scene, and two, he hadn't bumped, rather brutally, into the messenger bag containing Nagini.

"Oi, watch where yer goin', _kid," _the man's loud, drunken voice slurred. Harry's nose wrinkled as the putrid smell of alcohol reached his nostrils. Unfortunately, the man seemed to use that as another reason to yell at Harry. "What, are you repulsed by me?" He got closer, and Harry tried to back up but found his path blocked by the door. "I can see it in yer eyes. You think yer better than me! Well, let me tell yeh, _brat_, jus' 'cause yer too young teh know the wonders of dinkin' doesn' make yeh better than me!"

The pub, normally filled with quiet conversations, had gone silent. Everyone was watching the drunkard berate the small black haired boy. No one came to his defense, each person expecting the boy's parents to pop out from some hidden corner and give the alcoholic a piece of their mind. Only two people knew that wouldn't happen: Harry and Tom.

Harry sighed. Although he was not at fault, he really didn't want to get into it with someone in a public place and cause more of a disturbance. An apology was on the tip of his tongue, when Nagini decided to make an appearance.

_"What bumbling fool dares disturb my slumber. I'll leave his body covered in so many bites that he'll die within seconds, screaming for mercy. Or maybe I should only give him a few and watch as my poison spreads slowly throughout his system, completely destroying his organs, forcing him into unimaginable pain."_

Harry wasn't sure whether to snort in amusement at Nagini's words or groan at the fact that now everyone's gazes were fixated on the angry snake slowly making its way out of Harry's bag. Harry couldn't tell her to stop, they were the center of attention. It wasn't a good place to debut his talent for Parseltongue. The intoxicated man, of course, was much too far gone to listen to his brain, even though it had identified Nagini as a danger and was trying to inform him.

"Wot's that? You espect me to be afraid of a little snake?" Nagini bared her fangs ready to strike. All Harry wanted to do was smack his palm to his forehead in frustration. The situation was not becoming any better.

"Erm–"

"Excuse me, is there a problem here?" Two human heads and a snake's turned to look at the newest intruder. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Tom."

Tom gave Harry a pointed look, and Harry immediately snapped his mouth shut, swallowing the words he was about to let loose.

Nagini, witnessing the exchange, inferred that the person who had just arrived was possibly the friend Harry had spoken of, and decided to close her mouth and watch the rest of the situation unfold. However, feeling slightly guilty at the fact that she had come out of the bag even though she'd promised Harry she'd stay hidden. She sunk back down into it until only her head was showing.

The drunk man was still too oblivious to realize that the newest addition to their little group had just, indirectly, saved his life and therefore began ripping in to him as well.

"Wha'sit to you, eh? You think I don't know what you're tryin' to pull 'ere?"

"And what exactly might that be?"

"You're tryin' to keep yer friend 'ere from apologizing for what he did, see?"

"And what did he do?"

"He knocked righ' into me, he did!"

"Really?" Tom wrapped an arm around his waist and brought the pointer finger of his other hand to his cheek. "Because from where _I_ was sitting–and let me tell you I had a fine view of the whole ordeal–he was just standing there and _you_ crashed into him." Tom smirked. "So doesn't that mean _you're_ the one who needs to apologize?" There was a quiet murmur of agreement from the onlookers in the bar.

The man sputtered indignantly. "I-well-he-GAH!" Without saying a word to Harry, he turned and marched a very uneven and wobbly path out the opposite door.

Harry gave Tom and appreciative glance. "Thanks."

Tom shrugged. "Next time, don't zone out in the middle of a doorway." Tom walked back to the table where his friends had watched the whole scene play out, Harry trailing behind. They got to the table and sat down.

"Is this him," Abraxas asked with obvious curiosity written across his face. It wasn't a blank slate showing only superiority like Lucius, nor was there any snobbery like Harry'd seen with Draco.

"Yep. This is Harry."

"I see." He looked Harry up and down, one finely pruned eyebrow raised. "Abraxas Malfoy."

_Of course._ "Harry Evans."

"I know." Harry's head made a small spastic motion and Orion laughed. Harry got a good look at him, having never seen any photos of Sirius' father. He could see similarities in their nose, their chin, their eyes…

Harry looked down, hiding the pain in his eyes at the thought of his godfather from the others at the table. It was an old wound, completely healed over, but it still _hurt_ from time to time.

"Don't mind 'Raxas. He was raised to be a total dick to anyone he meets." Malfoy shot him a glare that could freeze Hell over. Twice. "I'm Orion Black, by the way. You're going to start at Hogwarts this year, correct?"

"Of course he's going to be starting at Hogwarts, Orion, or were you _not_ listening to a thing Tom has been talking about for the past hour?" Abraxas snapped, clearly having taken offense to Orion's previous statement. "Don't ask foolish questions."

Orion ignored the huffy blonde.

"You know it's against the rules to bring snakes as a pet, right?" Harry swore in his head. He had almost forgotten about Nagini.

Tom frowned. "Actually, I was wondering, where did you acquire that snake, Harry? It looked rather dangerous. It had fangs, which means it's venomous. I don't think it's an appropriate pet for you to keep."

Harry swallowed. He couldn't lie to Tom; he always seemed to know whenever Harry bent the truth. But he couldn't tell him that everything would be okay because he could talk to snakes either. Not yet. He hadn't planned on revealing the information to Tom for another few years at least. "I, erm, won it."

"Where?"

"At a store?"

"_Where?_" Tom asked with a little more force.

Harry looked away from Tom's penetrating gaze and mumbled, "Knockturn Alley…"

Both Tom's eyebrows went up.

Orion whistled. "How'd you manage to do that? I don't know any stores down there that are having any sort of contest right now, and I can't think of any off the top of my head that would ever give away a venomous snake to a kid."

Harry frowned. "I'm not a kid."

"You're a kid," Tom asserted. "Now why don't you enlighten us with what I'm sure will be a _fascinating_ tale."

Harry sighed and began his story. It was only when he got to the name of the shop where he'd obtained Nagini that he was interrupted.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!" Orion interrupted. "You went to_ LaVaughn's _Beasts_ alone?_" Harry nodded. "What the hell? Did the other guy, the manager of the store with the boring pets, _know_ you were alone?"

"I think so. There was no one else in the store besides me."

"Well, shit."

"Why can't you watch your tongue more carefully?" Abraxas said brusquely. "You're a Pureblood, you should act like it in public, at least."

"I do–"

"Obviously not."

"–but only when I'm at functions or parties. Or with those I don't consider friends." He grinned lightly at the scowling Malfoy. "Come on, 'Raxas, lighten up. It's not like anyone actually _cares_–"

"_I_ care," Abraxas said with a sniff before taking another sip of his drink. Orion shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"What's so bad about him going to LaVaughn's alone, besides the fact that it's in Knockturn Alley?" Tom questioned, seemingly as oblivious as Harry on that particular subject.

Abraxas smirked. "Let's just say that the owner, LaVaughn, doesn't just have an affinity for strange beasts."

"Meaning?"

"He likes little children too."

It took a millisecond for Harry's brain to comprehend before his jaw hit the floor. "You mean I was in a store, alone, with a pedophile for half an hour?"

Orion nodded, unable to keep the grin off his face, finding hilarity in the situation. "You should be more careful. No one goes to LaVaughn's alone. Wait," his face morphed into one filled with illumination, "is that how you got the snake? Compensation?"

Harry violently shook his head, nauseous at the idea. "Merlin, no! You think I would be stupid enough to just let someone molest me for a simple pet? If that's what you think, then you've got another thing coming–"

"Then how, pray tell, did you come into possession of that emerald green snake in your bag?" Tom interrupted, eyes narrowing. Harry knew he better explain himself, or LaVaughn would soon find himself to be missing a few choice limbs. Not that Harry particularly minded. He cleared his throat and began again. He got further, explaining the backroom and giving them Nagini's name. He was interrupted, again, however, when he told them about LaVaughn's Special.

"So you stuck your hand into the cage of a snake you _knew_ was poisonous, just to see if you would 'get lucky'?" Tom spoke his question slowly and in monotone, as if speaking to someone with brain-damage. "Was your brain on a vacation in the tropics or something? I held your intelligence in higher regards."

Harry was beginning to get annoyed with Tom's condescending attitude.

"Well I did '_get lucky_', it seems, because I stuck my hand in, Nagini didn't bite me and now I'm here explaining my story to you three." Harry leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. He hated it when Tom looked down on him.

"That's not the point. The snake _could_ have bitten you, it still can. How do you know it won't?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "She likes me."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'she likes me.'"

"I know what you said," Tom dismissed with a wave of his hand. "How can you be sure if the snake likes you or not?"

"She has a name you know, it's Nagini."

"Fine, how do you know_ Nagini_ likes you?"

"'Cause she didn't bite me." Tom's whole body twitched and he pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Let me see her."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, Harry." Harry scowled at Tom but still bent down under the table to retrieve Nagini from his bag anyway. He brought her out and placed her on the table. Abraxas and Orion leaned away from her, but Tom moved in, looking her dead in the eye before speaking the language Harry never thought he would hear so soon.

"_I'm Tom Riddle. You're name is Nagini, correct?"_ Harry already knew Tom was a Parselmouth but he was surprised that Tom would start speaking to the snake in front of him and two others in the middle of a pub. That was why he looked as gob-smacked as Abraxas and Orion.

Nagini studied Tom for a moment. This was definitely the boy Harry had been talking about. _"Yes."_

_"Do you plan on ever hurting Harry?"_

_"No**."**_

_"How can I be sure that your words are truth?"_

_"Why would I wish to hurt my savior?"_

Tom raised an eyebrow. "_Savior?"_

_"Yes, he saved me from a life of torture at the hands of that wizard, the details of which I will not go into. I will never hurt the person who saved me from a fate of constant experimentation. So long as I live, I will not hurt him."_

Harry knew the words were said to both Tom and him and bit his lip to keep himself from smiling. He'd known Nagini was grateful towards him, but he had no idea of the extent until now. Tom also was surprised by Nagini's words, but hid it just as well as Harry.

_"Do you swear it?"_

_"I swear it,"_ Nagini promised with a single bob of her head.

_"Good."_ Tom Narrowed his eyes. _"Because I can promise you that if you were to ever hurt him, you'd _wish_ you were back with LaVaughn having merely experiments done on you."_

_"Yes, Master Riddle."_

_"Good,"_ Tom said again. He thought for a moment. _"In fact, don't ever bite anyone unless they are about to do irreparable damage to Harry, or I order you to."_

_"Yes, Master Riddle."_

_"And don't call me 'Master Riddle'. Tom's just fine."_

_"Yes… Tom."_

_"That's all, I guess. For now." _ Tom finished speaking with Nagini and leaned back in his chair with a superior smirk on his face. Harry had closed his mouth a while ago, but Abraxas and Orion still looked on with matching stupefied expressions.

Orion was the first to come out of it. "I didn't know you could talk to snakes."

_He didn't tell _me_ either_, Harry thought bitterly. He'd wanted it to be a secret only he and Tom shared whenever the time came where Tom felt comfortable revealing it to him. He hadn't wanted it to be a casual discovery in front of two people Harry had only just met. He couldn't help the jealousy that built up inside him at the thought that Tom trusted these two people he'd only known for a year as much as he trusted Harry, who he'd known for seven.

Tom shrugged, shooting a quick glance at Harry. "You never asked."

"Slytherin was famous for being a Parselmouth," Abraxas chimed into the conversation. "What were you talking about?"

"I asked if she was ever going to bite Harry and told her never to bite anyone else, who didn't specifically deserve it. She agreed and said she would never bite her savior. Apparently Harry's saved her from a lifetime of torture."

"I'm glad I was able to be of service to something," Harry sarcastically remarked, scooping Nagini up and placing her back into his messenger bag.

Tom patted Harry's head from his seat next to him. "Yes, and I'm very proud of you. Would you like a cookie?"

Harry swatted Tom's hand away, scowling. He smirked along with Abraxas and Orion.

"Abraxas, dear," came a feminine voice from above Harry's head. He looked up to see the face of a female version of Abraxas. "Your father says it's time to return home. Say goodbye; you'll see your friends again in about a month on the train."

Abraxas nodded. "Yes, mother." He stood up. "I guess it's time for me to leave. I'll see you all on September first." He followed his mother back to the bar.

"I guess I better be off then, too." Orion got up went to join his parents at the door as well.

"does this mean we're going back to Wool's?"

Tom nodded. "I suppose we should if we want to be back in time for supper." Together they exited the Leaky Cauldron and integrated themselves into the flow of muggles on London's streets. They were quiet, and Harry thought their silence was comfortable, but Tom seemed to believe otherwise. "I'm sorry."

Harry turned to look at Tom. His eyes were trained on the ground and his hands were shoved in his pockets. A few bags on each arm swung in rhythm with his steps. "What for?"

"For not telling you I could talk to snakes. I never told you before Hogwarts because I was afraid you wouldn't want to be my friend any more. But once you stayed my friend–even after knowing I was different–I should have told you. I'm sorry I didn't."

Harry was feeling guilty now. Tom was apologizing to him, unaware that he was keeping the same secret from him.

_Well, I _did_ promise Nagini…_

"If you're apologizing for something like that, then I should apologize too." Tom looked at him strangely. "Because," Harry took a deep breath, "because I can talk to snakes as well."

Tom stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Harry continued a few more steps before pausing and turning back to look at his friend.

"You… _can_?"

Harry nodded. "Yep. Never knew it until today though." Tom didn't have to know _everything_. "That's how I knew Nagini wouldn't bite me. She spoke to me, and I to her. It was weird, really. I didn't even notice I was speaking another language until she replied." Harry looked desperately at Tom and bit his bottom lip. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

Never liking it when Harry was upset, Tom smiled reassuringly. "How could I be mad at you for being able to talk to snakes? This will be great! We'll have our own secret language that no one else will understand. We can write notes to each other in the middle of class and the teachers won't even be able to figure out what they say. You know… if we ever had the same class…"

Harry frowned. "I didn't know you could write in Parseltongue."

"Well you wouldn't if you just found out," Tom said matter-of-factly. "Not many people can speak it since you're either born with the ability or you aren't, so the whole language isn't just written down somewhere for people to learn, but it can be done. I've tried it. As long as you're _thinking_ in Parseltongue, you can read or write in it."

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "I guess that makes sense." He smiled at Tom. "Our own secret language no one will be able to understand." He giggled. "I kind of like the sound of that." He started walking again and Tom quickly caught up. "I know what we'll be doing for the rest of the summer."

"Other than you pouring through our books?" Tom asked with a smirk. "What?"

"Learning Parseltongue!"

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Before Harry knew it, September first arrived. Luckily, he had packed everything the night before and therefore didn't have to rush around that morning like a chicken with its head cut off. Harry and Tom had needed to make a quick return trip to Diagon Alley, though, when they realized that Harry had forgotten to purchase a trunk, not that he minded in particular. This time, Tom stuck right beside Harry the whole time. He was not chancing Zamarr or LaVaughn making a surprise appearance.

Harry rolled out of bed and stretched his arms up to the ceiling, allowing a big yawn to escape his lips. It was 7:15 in the morning and The Hogwarts Express didn't leave for another three hours and forty-five minutes. Harry's rucksack and phoenix wand were already hidden away in his trunk under all of his clothes while his acromantula wand was in his messenger bag and Nagini was still asleep on his desk. He smiled at her. When Harry first obtained Nagini from LaVaughn's Beasts, he'd had mixed feelings about keeping her. The only reason why he saved her in the first place was because his damned hero's complex had kicked in. After he'd gotten her out, he thought he was just going to let her go somewhere, maybe in the Forbidden Forest, but that was before their little… _escapade_ in the Leaky Cauldron. It didn't matter to Harry now though. Tom finding out that he could speak Parseltongue too had only brought them closer together, not pushed them apart like Harry originally thought. He'd thought Tom would feel resentment towards him for having the same gift as the older boy, but instead, Tom thought it would be great fun if they were to start using their ability to create a secret written language known only to them.

Harry's stomach chose that moment to squeeze in on itself, informing him that it was time to eat. He walked out of his room and down to the mess hall where they were serving cereal.

_Figures they'd only have cheap food. I don't know why I was expecting more… At least I'll have the feasts at Hogwarts to look forward to now, though._

He sat down at the table all the other children knew as "his and Tom's" and started to munch on the cornflakes before they became soggy. Instead of continuing to think about Hogwarts, his thoughts turned towards Germany and World War Two. Nothing had happened yet in Britain other than anti-Communist propaganda, but he knew the fighting and the bombing he'd only ever read about would begin the day after tomorrow. In fact, Germany should be invading Poland sometime during that morning. Harry wondered if it had already happened.

He finished up his cereal and returned to his room to get dressed. At eight-thirty, Matron came around checking all the rooms and shuffling people out. It was time to go to school. Harry put Nagini in his bag and his bag on his shoulder. When Matron got to his room, she opened the door and asked, "Do you need any help with your trunk, dear?" Harry was surprised. It was the first time any adult at the orphanage had the decency to see if Harry needed help with anything. He nodded and the Matron smiled at him, taking one handle on his trunk while Harry, the other. Together they slowly made their way down all the stairs and to the front door.

"You behave yourself at that new school of yours, understood? I don't want any letters saying how much of a menace you turned out to be." With that, she turned on her heel and went back up the stairs to finish chasing the other children out to school. Harry grimaced. That was it? No 'goodbye', or 'do you need help getting to the station'? It was a good thing he'd done as Tom advised and gotten the trunk with wheels.

Tom joined him shortly. "Ready to go?" Harry nodded. "Good. Come on then." Tom and Harry left Wool's Orphanage and began their short trek over to King's Cross. Harry's stomach was filled with butterflies, but he assumed it was due to the excitement of not haing to return to Wool's until school was over.

Tom led the way through the station over to the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. He turned to Harry. "This is the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Just walk towards the barrier there and you'll pass right through. I'm not sure how it keeps muggles out, but it does. I'll go first, watch." Tom calmly walked towards the barrier and disappeared right through it. Harry did the same. There weren't a lot of people around, so he thought that running would make him a bit more conspicuous. He passed through with no problem, just like Tom. There was barely anyone on the platform. There wasn't even steam coming from the train's scarlet engine. Harry looked at the clock on the wall.

8:55

Two hours of boredom. Tom looked back at Harry. "Let's go claim some seats." He started off towards the train and Harry followed. What else could he do? He had no muggle money for shopping around on the muggle side of King's Cross and it wasn't as if he knew any of the people on the wizarding side of the platform. He boarded the train and stalked after Tom all the way to the end of the train. Tom opened the sliding door to the last compartment. "This is where you'll stay. I want to be able to find you easily."

Harry furrowed his brows. "Where will you be?"

"Here as well. I might leave to go visit with other people, but I don't want to misplace you, so stay here."

Harry sighed. "Alright." He didn't like it when Tom took on the big-brother-commands-you role.

Tom smiled. "Good."

The next two hours were spent with Harry reading _Hogwarts, A History_. Tom had lent him a copy that he had seemingly bought the first time he'd been in Diagon Alley. "It will be useful to you," he had said when he handed Harry the book. "It was useful to me." Harry flipped through the pages, skipping over things Hermione had told him. He paused, though, at the short page titled _The Chamber of Secrets_.

_How much of this has Tom read?_ _Probably all of it. _As the minutes passed, more and more people arrived on the platform. There seemed to be a great deal more wizards and witches than there were in Harry's time. Tom caught him staring.

"There aren't usually this many students, according to Abraxas's father. It's mostly because of Grindelwald's campaign in Central Europe. These people are refugee's." Grindelwald… Harry had forgotten that the Dark Wizard was in power.

"I see," was all he replied. He leaned his forehead against the glass. Harry wondered if during Vodemort's first war other wizarding schools had an influx of British wizards. The door to their compartment slid open.

"Here you are, Tom. I told you he'd be here, didn't I 'Raxas?"

"Yes, you made your point quite clear." Harry didn't have to turn around and view the newcomers to know that they were Orion and Abraxas. He closed his eyes. Reading about Hogwarts was kind of boring, especially when he'd already been there. He felt the seat dip. Who was on his right? He didn't care. All he wanted was to go back to sleep for a few more hours. Summer did that to a person. A shrill whistle sounded, and the train lurched forward. Harry yawned once more before drifting off to the rocking of the train.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

"Why do they only serve candy? What if I wanted real food? Why don't they serve that instead?"

"Maybe because, since you're a child, they think you'll crave candy more than finger sandwiches and tea."

Harry's eyes snapped open. The train was moving along at a steady pace now. He turned to see who was arguing over the selection that the trolley lady had. Orion was currently ravaging a small pile of chocolate frogs, while Abraxas nibbled at the corner of a Bertie Bott's every flavor bean. Harry smirked as he was suddenly reminded of Tom's story about Abraxas and his unfortunate encounter with a vomit flavored bean. Tom had been reading, but when he saw that Harry was awake, he closed his book.

"Have a nice nap, sleeping beauty?"

Harry tried to scowl, but it only ended up changing into an after-nap yawn. "Shaddup." Tom chucked. Abraxas and Orion had stopped whatever fight they had been engaged in and stared at the two boys. Harry settled back in his seat and reached down to bring Nagini out of his bag. He placed her on his lap in the middle of a patch of sunlight.

_"Thanks."_

Orion grimaced. "Okay, it's not that I dislike your new pet or anything, but you do realize you're going to be in extreme trouble when the teachers find out about her? Especially when they realize she's a danger to the other students. Professor Dippet will probably go bat-shit."

Abraxas' eye twitched at Orion's choice of words, but he smirked at his words. "That would be interesting. I would pay good money to see the Headmaster soil himself out of astonishment."

Orion rolled his eyes and bit into another frog. "He would probably be more furious than astonished."

"We could always tell him that it's okay because Tom's a Parselmouth. Then he would be astonished and might get a concussion tripping over himself in attempt to bow down to Slytherin's heir." Harry's finger, which had been gently stroking Nagini, froze. Did they know?

Tom turned to Abraxas and raised an eyebrow. "Slytherin's heir? What in the world would make you think that?"

Abraxas shrugged. "You're a Parselmouth. Slytherin and all of his known descendants have been Parselmouth's. There's a book on pureblood lineage back in the library at Malfoy Manor. It's a huge tome. They re-make it once every generation. The last known descendants of Slytherin were the Gaunt's, and all three of them were Parselmouth's. I can let you take a look at it if you ever come over. It's much too big for me to bring to Hogwatrs."

Orion looked over at Abraxas. "Why were you looking at that pureblood book? I thought you hated going through it. You said it annoyed you because it was so difficult to navigate."

Abraxas shrugged again. "I was curious. Tom's a Parselmouth, I thought maybe we could solve the mystery of his parentage if I looked in the book."

Tom smiled. "Thank you for the offer Abraxas. I may come over one day and check it out myself. However, I would appreciate it if you did not make my ability known. I don't want everyone in the whole school to know I can converse with snakes."

Abraxas nodded. "I understand. Better to keep the best secrets unknown until the time to strike is right." There was silence in their compartment for a few minutes but it was broken by Orion's giggles.

"Maybe we should start calling you 'Lordship' now, huh? In case you really are Slytherin's heir. Wouldn't that be funny? We could get a few of the upper years in on it and scare all the little firsties. Oh yeah, I'm totally gonna make this happen." He jumped up and rushed out of their compartment.

"I better make sure that idiot doesn't give too much away." Abraxas dashed after him, closing the compartment door behind him. Tom and Harry were left in silence. It amazed Harry how alike Orion was to his son, Sirius. Yet, Sirius had run away from his home as a teenager, so there must be something about Orion's character Harry didn't know yet… or something that hadn't yet developed.

"Do you think anyone else besides them will call you that?" Harry really was intrigued by the idea.

Tom sighed. "Maybe."

"You already have that much influence in Slytherin?"

"I told you, power is everything in that house. Other than blood status."

"But you're only a first year."

"I'm a second year now."

Harry scowled. "But you were a first year last year. You've only been through one year, how could you already have so much influence over the other Slytherins, especially when you come from a muggle orphanage, no offense."

"Why would I take offense to that? You're from the same orphanage." Tom crossed his arms and looked out the window. "I'm smart for may age. I learn quickly and I retain everything I'm taught. In my spare time I learned some, well, they weren't very nice spells. Anyway, one night in the common room, near the end of the year, I was sitting there with Abraxas and Orion. We were just chatting, minding our own business, when this sixth year boy came over and started making, I guess you would call it, trouble. He said some things, we said some things, he took out his wand, but before he could use any spells on us, I shot off one of the not-so-nice ones I learned. Ever since then, the other Slytherins have been showing me the respect I deserve."

"Deserve?" Harry made a face at Tom. "You don't deserve respect, you earn it."

"We didn't do anything to him. He just picked a fight with us for no reason, so I taught him a lesson. We deserved respect from him, and now I have it."

"And the others?"

"It's their own choice. They saw me beat a sixth year, and now they look at me with respect mixed with fear. No one bothers me or my friends any more. Not that they really bothered Abraxas or Orion before. No one in their right mind would try to pick a fight with the Black and Malfoy heirs. Their families are quite old and respected in Pureblood society."

Harry let a heavy breath of air escape through his nostrils. He kind of saw where Tom was coming from, but he didn't really feel fine about it. "You won't just go around hurting people for no reason, though, will you?"

Tom looked back at Harry. "Why would I? If they don't come looking for a fight, then I'll leave them be."

Harry smiled.

"_I'm hungry."_ Both boys looked down at Nagini.

_"I'm sorry, Nagini. I'll get you some food once we reach the school. They don't seem to serve anything you would find appealing on this train__,_" Harry whispered to his snake.

_"I understand. I shall rest some more then.**" **_She put her head back down and fell back into the land of dreams. Tom looked unblinkingly at Harry and the younger boy squirmed

"What?" Harry always felt a bit uncomfortable whenever Tom looked at him like that.

"Do you think we're actually related?"

Harry's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"You know, because we're both Parselmouths. Abraxas said only those in the line of Slytherin have been Parselmouths."

Harry shook his head. "No, he said that all of Slytherin's known heirs have been Parselmouths. That doesn't mean that only heirs of Slytherin can speak the language."

Tom leaned back and looked thoughtfully up at the top of their compartment. "I'm glad we aren't related."

"Why?" Harry couldn't help but feel a stab of pain at the sudden declaration. He would have been fine if Tom thought of him as a brother–he thought the boy already did. It didn't bother him if they created a familial bond.

"Because families fight. They always fight. I'd much rather be best friends instead. I never want to fight with you, Harry."

Harry couldn't believe that these words were coming from the mouth of the person who would become the wizarding world's number one most feared Dark Lord in history. The person who would, later in life, kill his parents and come after Harry multiple times. Screw Dumbledore's notion that love was the thing that the Dark Lord knew not. It was obvious to Harry that the boy sitting across from him definitely could feel something close to it. He smiled. "Nor I with you, Tom."

The rest of the train ride passed without much incident. Orion returned with an amused Abraxas, stating that the rest of the Slytherins had agreed to calling Tom "Your Lordship". Tom shook his head but Harry laughed, astonished that people were already willing to acknowledge Tom as their master. As the train neared Hogwarts, the four boys got changed into their uniforms. Even though Harry knew that he was supposed to leave his things on the train, he still brought Nagini with him inside the messenger bag under his cloak in order to avoid any problems that would certainly arise if she were found by whoever cleared the train. When they pulled into the station, Tom led Harry out onto the Platform.

"First years over here!" Harry turned to look. It wasn't Hagrid, but the skinny bald man holding the lantern was still about a head above most of the students.

"That's the grounds man, VonSnipes. He's foreign. I told you before about all the refugee's escaping from Grindelwald, and he's one of them. Go with him. First years go through a different sort of ceremony than the rest of us, I told you about it in one of my letters. I've got to go off this way with Abraxas and Orion. I'll save you a seat at the feast, Harry." Tom waved and strode off to board one of the waiting carriages. Harry gave a half-hearted smile before making his way over towards VonSnipes. There was already a small group of children huddled around him.

"You all here?" The man did a quick headcount. "Excellent." He spoke with mostly a British accent, but Harry could still make out the German undertones. "My name is VonSnipes and I am the groundskeeper here at Hogwarts. Follow me and don't dawdle or you'll be left behind." He turned and made his way down the steps and off towards the lake, a small procession of first years trailing behind him. When they reached the edge, he looked at them again. "Four to a boat. We do not start rowing until everyone is in one. Understood? Go." It wasn't a mad scramble, but no one wanted to be put in the same boat as the seemingly foul-tempered VonSnipes. Harry ended up in holding the leading lantern in a boat with two other boys and a girl. One of the boys had a head of striking red hair that he hadn't seen in a long time. He had the left oar and the other boy had the right, while the girl was put in charge of the rudder. The Weasley boy smiled at Harry.

"Hello, I'm Angelo Weasley. What's your name?"

"Harry Evans."

"Alright, everyone in a boat? Yes? Follow me!" VonSnipes's boat was in front of everyone else's, and led the way towards the hidden entrance to Hogwarts.

Angelo continued his conversation with Harry. "Any idea what house you'll be in? I'm hoping for Gryffindor myself." Harry shook his head. "Well that's okay. No one _really_ knows where they'll go anyway. Anywhere will be better than Slytherin though, that's for sure."

"Only Dark witches and wizards come out of that house." The girl had decided to join in on their conversation. Angelo turned his head around.

"What's your name?"

"Myrtle." Harry blanched. There was no way that this was the same Myrtle that haunted the second floor girl's bathroom back in his time. She couldn't be. He raised the light a bit higher to catch a glimpse of her face. It was.

"What house do you want to be in?"

"Gryffindor, same as you, but I'll probably end up in Ravenclaw." She seemed disappointed by that fact. Angelo and Myrtle got into a discussion about how Gryffindor was better than all the other houses, and Harry took that time to observe the other boy. He had a skinny figure, but was obviously pretty tall for his age, just like Ron. His soft blonde curls cast a shadow over his ice blue eyes. He stared at Harry, inclined his head towards Angelo and Myrtle and rolled his eyes. The corners of Harry's lips turned up. The small boats passed under a curtain of ivy and suddenly they were all in a cavernous room with torchlight dancing on the walls. Everyone rowed up to the mini docks and got out.

"Up the stairs, all of you. Go!" Harry was beginning to miss Hagrid. At least _he_ didn't bark orders out at the students. They all trudged up the stone steps until they reached the top. Albus Dumbledore stood there waiting for them. VonSnipes handed the children over to Dumbledore, and the elder man brought them into the same room McGonagall had during Harry's previous first year.

"Welcome, all of you, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Professor Dumbledore. As some of you may already be aware of, we have four houses here at Hogwarts. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. You will spend your seven years here as a member of one of those houses. Remember, each House is like your family so please treat others with respect. While at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you points, which go towards your House winning the House Cup at the end of the year. Any rule breaking," he paused and gave them all a stern look over his half-moon spectacles, "And you will loose points. Now, please wait here. I will be back in a few moments, and the sorting ceremony will begin." He turned and strode out the door. Everyone around Harry immediately broke out into conversations.

"I wonder what we'll have to do to get sorted?"

"I hope it's not a test. I'm not ready!"

"My older sister said it happens in front of the whole school. What if I mess up?" Harry snorted. Was he really that gullible when he was a first year? There was no way the school would force them to take a test in front of everybody to see where they would be sorted. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. It was the blonde boy from his boat.

"Hello. My name is Dmitry Volynski." Russian. Harry didn't think that there would be anyone from Russia in Hogwarts. He thought anyone from Russian would head for Durmstrang, if Russia didn't have its own wizarding academy tucked away under all the snow.

He smiled at Dmitry. "Harry Evans."

"Yes, I know. I heard you in the boat." He frowned. "I do not think it was so, how you say, kind of the other two to be saying rude things about the other houses."

Harry nodded. "I agree. I know a few people in Slytherin and they're quite nice, as far as future Dark Wizards go."

Dmitry chuckled. "Yes. I am thinking it would be very funny if they are to end up in a house other than Gryffindor."

Harry smirked. "No, they'll be in Gryffindor all right. I can tell." Dmitry sent Harry a puzzled look. "You can't say that many terrible things about other houses and _not_ end up in Gryffindor. Your dorm-mates might strangle you in your sleep." This time Dmitry laughed and the people closest to the pair gave them strange looks. Who would be laughing during such a crisis in their short-lived lives? Dumbledore returned before Harry and Dmitry's conversation could continue.

"This way, please." They all followed him down the hall and to the left. Harry recognized the doors to the Great Hall immediately. He could hear the buzz of conversation on the other side. So could the other students, apparently, if their nervous fidgeting meant anything. Dumbledore pushed open the towering doors, and all conversation ceased. Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched in curiosity as the first years proceeded down the middle aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. They got to the steps in front of the Staff Table. The sorting hat was resting on a stool at the very top. Harry watched the other first years look at the hat with open curiosity. He was suddenly reminded of his first sorting. He let himself drift through the memories and tuned out whatever song the hat had thought up this year.

"Adams, Alicia!" And so it began. Harry waited patiently for his name to be called.

"Deakins, Mrytle!" Moaning Myrtle walked up the steps and put the hat on.

"RAVENCLAW!" Harry snorted. She'd said so many horrid things about Ravenclaw, he thought it was ironic she would spend the next seven years of her life there.

_Until the basilisk kills her._

"Evans, Harry!" Dmitry gave him an encouraging smile, not that Harry needed it. He walked up the steps, turned, sat on the stool and let the Sorting Hat fall over his eyes.

_Aha! What have we here? A student who's already been sorted, but has yet to pass beneath my brim. It seems that Gryffindor is where I put you last time, or will put you in the future, so how about a different house now, just for kicks and giggles._

Harry raised an eyebrow. _Slytherin, right? That's where you wanted to put me the first time. If that's where you want to put me this time, I don't have a problem with it._

_Slytherin, huh? Actually I was thinking more along the lines of Hufflepuff._

_Yes, I- WHAT?_

_Hufflepuff would be a good change of scenery for a mind like yours._

_But I don't want to be a Hufflepuff!_

_Why? What's so bad about being a badger?_

_I can't be with Tom if I'm over there._

_Nonsense. True friendship can go beyond the barriers of whatever House you're put in, I'm sure._

_But I don't want–_

_Hufflepuff it is._

_–to be in–_

_"_SLYTHERIN!" Harry ripped off the hat and scowled. He stomped over to sit beside Tom at the Slytherin table.

Orion looked at him. "Why so glum, chum?"

"Bloody hat and its bloody mind games. I swear, I think I'm going to put it through a shredder."

"Why? You didn't want to be put in Slytherin?"

"No, that miserable excuse for a _hat_ kept telling me that it was going to put me in Hufflepuff!"

Orion stared at him before breaking out into loud peals of laughter, earning many annoyed looks from other students and a few from the teachers. Tom and Abraxas just smirked. "The Sorting Hat–" chuckle, "–said–" uncontrollable giggles, "_–what_?" Harry glared at Orion before turning his attention back on the sorting. Orion got himself back under control, but continued to snigger anytime someone was sorted into Hufflepuff.

"Volynski, Dmitry!"

"SLYTHERIN!" Harry clapped with the rest of his house as Dmitry made his way over to Harry.

"I am glad we are in the same house." He sat down. "Why did you not look so happy when you were sorted? Did you wish to be somewhere else?" Orion started giggling again. Harry's eye twitched.

"The hat told me it was putting me in Hufflepuff."

Dmitry's eyes widened in shock but then he joined Orion on the titter-parade. "No worries now though, Harry." He looked at Tom. "You're in Slytherin now."

The sorting finished and Dumbledore took the hat and stool off to the side. An old man Harry had only seen in a portrait in Dumbledore's office and Tom Riddle's diary, stood. He assumed that this man was Professor Dippet. He opened his arms wide.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." It wasn't as creative as what Dumbledore usually said at the start-of-year feasts, but it did the job well-enough. Food appeared on all the tables in the Great Hall and Harry began piling it onto his plate.

Dinner itself was uneventful and he kept waiting for someone to call Tom "your Lordship" but it never came. So instead he busied himself with getting to know Dmitry and slipping food, inconspicuously, to Nagini.

It turned out that Harry shouldn't have been waiting for Tom's new nickname to appear at dinner. When the meal was finished and Professor Dippet told them all the rules, the prefects gathered up all the first years and led them to the common room. The Slytherin common room was down a staircase outside the great hall and in the dungeons. The prefect stopped in front of an empty wall and spoke, "Lord Riddle," with a smirk. A portion of the wall dissolved and he led them all into the common room. He turned to the waiting first years. "That was the password, don't forget it. Boys room's, down the staircase to your left, Girl's down the one on the right." He stalked away and joined a group of older students on a leather couch. Harry shrugged and made his way towards his dormitory. Dmitry trailed after him. Harry found a door labeled '**1**' and walked in. He saw his things at the foot of a bed.

"Harry?" He turned. Dmitry was frowning. "Wasn't 'Riddle' the name that boy you were sitting next to at the table during dinner?"

Harry nodded. "Don't take the password too seriously. It's just a joke being played by the upper years."

"If you say so…" Harry stripped down and pulled his pajama bottoms on. He crawled into bed hoping that this time around, Hogwarts wouldn't be as _interesting_ as it was when he first attended.

* * *

><p>sorry for how long it took to update! i really didn't mean for it to be <em>months<em>. school was just being really stressful and stuffs...


	6. Chapter 6

_Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid.__ –_Hedy Lamarr

Harry watched the Scottish countryside fly by. He was on his was back to Hogwarts to begin his fifth year as a Slytherin student. The past four years hadn't held any of the dangerous excitement that his previous school life had given, and he didn't mind it in the least. He enjoyed the quiet normality of it all. He had even refrained from joining the Quidditch team in order to keep any possible unwanted attention towards his skills on a broom at bay. It truly was blissful, being able to experience Hogwarts again as a normal person rather than the Boy-Who-Lived.

As he watched a melding of greens and browns flicker past, he listened to his friend, Dmitry, speak animatedly about his summer experiences. His mother and father had taken him back to Russia to visit his extended family. It was the first time he had been able to see them in years, so Harry couldn't blame Dmitry for being ecstatic in his descriptions. He crossed his arms over his lithe body and sent a small smile Dmitry's way as the blonde boy recounted yet another lavish ball he'd attended with his cousins. Even though Harry hadn't played as a Seeker since before he'd traveled back in time, he still retained all the quick reflexes and grace that the position had helped him hone. He was also still the shortest in his group of friends, though not by much.

The grin flipped into a frown as his mind wandered to Tom. The older boy had disappeared for a day that summer and when Harry had angrily demanded where he'd been, Tom had nonchalantly claimed that he'd been to Diagon Alley, ran into Abraxas, been abducted back to Malfoy Manor for dinner, and ended up spending the night because by the time the whole affair was over, it was past the time he was supposed to be back at Wool's. Harry had accepted the answer at the time, not wanting to push it, but he knew it wasn't what really happened, and it bothered him. Tom had rarely ever lied to him throughout the time they'd known each other, and whenever he had, it was because he though Harry would disapprove of the truth. Sometimes when Harry caught Tom lying, he let it slide and allowed himself to forget about it, thinking it would possibly be better for him not to know, and continued living his life normally. But he couldn't forget; not this time. Not when Tom had… changed. That was the only way Harry could put it. Around Harry, he appeared to be normal, but when he didn't know the other boy was around, his eyes became colder and his aura darkened. It reminded Harry too much of the Tom Riddle from Dumbledore's memories and he knew that he'd have to do something before Lord Voldemort could be born.

And whatever it was linked back to _that_ day. If he wanted to find out what had changed Tom and how to stop it from spreading, killing the boy he'd befriended years ago, he'd need to figure out what really occurred the day he visited "Diagon Alley."

It was to the scene of Dmitry reenacting the tales of his summer and Harry lounging on the bench of their small compartment that the objet of Harry's current thoughts, along with his two counterparts, decided to make an appearance.

"Bloody McGonagall thinks she can order us around just because she's got the title of 'Head Girl' under her belt now," Orion grumbled, dropping unceremoniously on the seat next to Dmitry. Abraxas mirrored Orion's movements wordlessly, but in a more graceful manner. He hadn't been made a prefect, but Orion had obviously caught him somewhere further down the train from Harry and Dmitry's compartment and forced the Malfoy heir into becoming the ear for his rant. Harry would have sniggered if not for Tom, who had followed behind them both, face void of emotion; an obvious sign that, he too, was not amused by the girl's antics.

"I mean, really. I thought that to become Head Girl or Head Boy you needed to at least be a bit unprejudiced towards other Houses, but man does she seem to have it in for us Slytherins!"

"McGonagall," Dmitry said slowly. "She is the Gryffindor prefect you were complaining about last year, correct?"

"Of course she was. Don't pretend to have forgotten, what with the way he complained about her _non-stop_ until our ears began to bleed," Abraxas commented, examining his well-manicured fingers.

Dmitry snorted. "It would only be a Gryffindor who openly displays hate towards our House. But what did she do to deserve your wrath this time?"

"She insinuated that we Slytherins were not fit to be prefects, and I _know_ she was pointing the finger at us when the casual topic of British families supporting Grindelwald's movement sprung up." Orion had a fire burning in his eyes that ignited whenever he became passionate about something, and was very hard to quench. So Harry took the smart path and silently listened to his rant, directing his gaze to a spot where the wallpaper was peeling between Orion and Dmitry's heads.

"I mean, there are quite a few of the Pureblood families who like how he's going about dealing with the muggles–rounding them up and putting them in that prison to be tortured–but none of the British families have joined his ranks! It would be foolish to put ourselves in that position, what with the sheer number of other powerful European families taking refuge behind our borders. We aren't that stupid!"

"Then maybe you should have told her not to believe everything she reads in the gossip column of the _Daily Prophet_?_"_ Abraxas offered in a bored tone, used to having his ear talked off since he was usually the victim Orion descended on.

Orion stared at his friend, appalled. "As if I could."

"Why not?" Abraxas asked, pursing his lips in annoyance. He, like the rest of them, knew what Orion's answer would be.

"Because she's the Head Girl."

Harry couldn't help smirking at that. Sirius, brave Gryffindor that he was, wouldn't have had a problem standing up to a teenage McGonagall, correcting her point of view. Orion, on the other hand, had proven himself to be a true Slytherin, interested in self-preservation and keeping out of trouble.

"But I'll get her back, somehow… Maybe I'll use a charm to break the ink bottles in her schoolbag."

_Mostly._

Harry closed his eyes and tuned out the rest of the conversation. He didn't really care much for the House rivalry between Slytherin and the other three. He'd grown tired of it and had begun staying away from any argument as much as he could. It also didn't help whenever one of his new friends began unknowingly badmouthing one of his old, or their family. If Tom felt Harry's body become more rigid next to him as the others continued speaking poorly of McGonagall, he ignored it.

_Yet another thing that's changed…_

The topic of conversation took a turn in a new direction and they eventually pulled into the station at Hogwarts, joining the rest of the students in clambering off onto the platform. Harry stood in line, waiting his turn, as another group of people entered one of the black buggy's that would take them to school. They shut the door and Harry watched as the thestral stationed at the front threw back it's head and started off for the castle; only, unbeknownst to him, he wasn't the only one watching the bringer's of bad omens.

Tom Riddle couldn't take his _eyes_ off them. He'd always thought the coaches' ability to move was thanks to some enchantment placed upon them. He'd had no idea that _thestrals_ were the reason behind it. It was so simple; so obvious. He'd learnt of the creature while perusing through his Care of Magical Creatures textbook during his third year while doing an assignment for the class. Only people who'd seen death could view the skeletal beasts and, after the events that had taken place over the summer, it was no surprise that Tom was able to–

He quickly shook the thought from his head. No need to be stuck in the past. He had… _things_ that needed to be dealt with this year, and dwelling on the past would certainly hinder his plans.

The five Slytherins piled into the next carriage that came along and happily endured the bumpy ride up to the castle. When they reached the gates, the black clouds in the dark sky opened up and began drizzling on them.

"Ugh," Dmitry whined, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at the rain coming down. "Why must the weather reports always be wrong? I had read in this morning's _Prophet_ that it was going to be sunny all day."

"Yes, but it's nighttime now." Orion responded cheekily, earning himself an elbow to the ribcage from Dmitry.

"Didn't you see the weather becoming overcast on the train ride up?" Abraxas asked frowning as the rain began coming down harder. "I hope we won't get too wet…"

"I was busy trying to tune out Orion's problems. He just kept spitting them out, one after another. I thought it would never end."

"Hey!" Orion gave an affronted glare to Dmitry, who just shrugged it off like it was nothing. It probably was by now. They'd had at least one argument per day since they met. Their squabbles mainly consisted of playful banter though, most of the time…

They boys' carriage got to the doors just as the rain started coming down in torrents, and they rushed inside to keep from getting too drenched. It reminded Harry a lot of his fourth year, in 1994.

Orion looked out at the black lake. "I almost feel bad for the first years. Definitely wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather." Yep. It was a deja-vu moment for sure.

The boys waded through the crowd and into the Great Hall, dividing at the head of their House table and sitting, as one, once they had reached their places in the middle. To an onlooker, it would have seemed like a well-planned, graceful maneuver. But it wasn't.

Harry's eyes slid to the left, straining to see Tom without him having to move his head. He wouldn't let it show outwardly, but he was worried. Tom wasn't usually as quiet as he'd been that day. He'd hardly said a thing on the train over, and had become silent as soon as they'd reached Hogsmeade. Harry wanted to believe that it was just another evolution of the persona Tom displayed in public, but it didn't explain why he was practically ignoring Harry…

It wasn't long before everyone was settled and the first years were brought in. They weren't as soaked as the ones in Harry's fourth year, but they unmistakably had that "wet-dog" mien about them. The sorting commenced, ended, and the food appeared. About halfway through the meal, Harry knew something was up. He desperately wished it was his imagination, but he couldn't create the looks being sent Tom's way by other members of his House. It wasn't everyone–no one below Tom's own year–but it was still rather unsettling.

And it let Harry on to the fact that Tom was keeping something from him. Something big. He took deep, steadying breaths and continued on with his meal as if he was oblivious to the world around him.

_Please, please, _please,_ Merlin, don't let anything happen this year. Let it be like all the others. I'm quite fine with a normal life, really, I am. You don't need to send me any surprises, I promise._

Harry's apprehensive mood did not diminish as the night wore on. Not when dinner dissolved into dessert, not when the food vanished from peoples plates altogether, and certainly not when they reached the common room. Harry wanted to speak privately with Tom in order to find out if something was truly bothering his friend, see if he could wiggle out of Tom what the boy was keeping from him, but the Heir of Slytherin turned in early. There was nothing left for Harry to do, other than follow Dmitry up the stairs to their dormitory and fall asleep.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

_He had to find him. _

_Harry rushed down the main street in Hogsmeade, head swiveling back and forth in frantic desperation. He had to find him, but where was he?_

_Hogwarts._

_Yes, it had to be Hogwarts. He would definitely find him in the castle. He would use the Marauders Map to locate him. Harry ran past the winger-boar gates, knocking into a few faceless people, and entered Hogwarts grounds. He had to find him–before something terrible happened; and he knew in his gut that it would. His lungs felt like they were on fire as he pushed and pulled the cold air through his open mouth._

_Just a bit further.…_

_Harry leaped up the front steps, two at a time, and ripped open the front doors. He pounded down the hall and down the stairs to the Slytherin common room. It seemed as though Hogwarts could tell that Harry was in a hurry, for the wall melted away, revealing the room without him needing to stammer out a password._

_Not that he wasn't _grateful_. _

_He didn't stop, but continued his quest until he had reached the trunk at the foot of his bed. He ripped open the lid and tore through the contents, finding his prize within seconds. _

_"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." _

_His words came out as gasps as he tried to catch his breath. Harry watched, wishing it would go faster, as ink moved along the parchment, creating the map he'd seen so many times before. His eyes roamed the page, searching but not finding. Harry swore. _

_"Mischief managed!" He threw the map back into his trunk and dashed back out of his room. He had to reach him before it was too late. He _had_ to get to him. He ran back through the common room and up the stairs, through the main hall and up a second staircase. He skidded around a corner and flew down the corridor before him, the door at the end coming closer with each frantic step. He stretched out his hand, ready to push the door open, when–_

Harry's eyes snapped open. He could barely make out the outline of the green hangings above him in the dark.

"Tempus." It was five thirteen in the morning. Harry sighed and threw his arm over his face. He'd had the dream again, the same one he'd been having for the past month or so. It was just like when Voldemort was trying to get the prophecy in his fifth year, back in 1995. With each dream he got a bit farther, but sometimes he didn't go anywhere at all. This last one was the furthest he'd gotten yet. He didn't have any idea where the dreams were taking him before, but now, thanks to his most recent, the destination was obvious.

Myrtle's bathroom; the Chamber of Secrets

Harry squeezed his already shut eyes tighter. It wasn't _fair_. A small voice in the back of his head told him the dream meant the Chamber would be opened, but another passionately denied it. Before Harry's second year in 1992, the basilisk had been unleashed during Tom's fifth year, a time that had already come and gone.

_And besides,_ Harry reassured himself, _there's no way Tom even _knows_ about the basilisk yet. He would have told me if he'd found the Chamber, I know he would have. There's no way he wouldn't. He would have told me…_

Harry turned over on his side. He could hear the soft breaths leaving the mouths of his slumbering roommates. They wouldn't be up for another three or four hours since it was a Sunday as well as a Hogsmeade weekend. Harry snuggled into the warmth of his covers, allowing them to help calm his nerves and letting his thoughts slide to a more pleasant topic.

Presents, those were always good. He would probably end up getting Tom his Christmas and birthday presents on this trip, even though neither date was for another two months. It was always best to shop for the boy when he was least expecting it. If he didn't, Tom wouldn't let Harry out of his sight because he thought it was funny to see Harry's put-out expression when he wasn't surprised over the gift. It was a game to Tom, finding out the nature of his presents before they were given.

There were no windows in the Slytherin dorms, meaning he couldn't rely on the sun to tell him it was up, so he ended up rolling out of bed two hours later, having not fallen back asleep. He dragged his feet to the bathroom to relieve his bladder and hopped into a scalding shower, making sure he was extra clean. After all, this trip to Hogsmeade would be a little different than all the others.

Harry Evans had a date. He just hoped this one didn't go as disastrously as the one with Cho had. But the girl he was taking this time around was a poised Slytherin, not a blubbering Ravenclaw, so maybe things would end better than they had on his first date ever with a girl…

The Slytherin Harry would be accompanying that day was Aquila Edavane, and though he wasn't sexually attracted to her, her face was aesthetically pleasing, which was why he hadn't cursed Orion when he, not Harry, had agreed to the date. In fact, Harry had never even spoken to her before until she'd wandered up to him in the library, Monday, and asked him to accompany her to Hogsmeade that weekend. Harry had been so shocked that he'd unconsciously allowed his mouth to hang open in a rather unattractive way, and before he could decline, Orion had put an arm around his shoulders and told Aquila that Harry would be happy to take her out. She'd practically bounced away, ecstatic, and Harry had sent Orion his worst death glare before smacking him in the face with a rolled-up _Prophet._

Later, at dinner, when Harry had been whining about Orion's actions to their friends, he'd received little sympathy. Abraxas had smirked and Dmitry had laughed, excitedly saying that Harry should be happy such a pretty girl with such a Pure family had asked him out. But Tom… Tom had just sat there, absorbing the information in silence with the only sign that he'd heard being a single eyebrow lifting. Harry wouldn't have even seen it if he hadn't been sitting directly across from the boy.

Harry turned the shower's knob, and the continuous spray of hot water stopped. He dried off and wrapped a towel around his slim waist, quickly returning to his room to dress himself. He hadn't brought any clothing with him because he thought no one else would be up yet. It was still early, for a weekend.

He was wrong. Dmitry was sitting up and stretching, and Tom was perched on Harry's bed.

Why was that fool up so early?

Harry paid him no mind as he went over to his trunk and fished out a pair of green boxer shorts. He slid them on under his towel before letting the fluffy cloth fall to the floor.

"What are you doing on my bed, Tom?"

Tom looked at him with mock surprise at Harry's arrival, as if he hadn't been slyly watching the other boy's movements out of the corner of his eye since he'd emerged from the bathroom. "Can't I come to say 'Good morning'?"

"Tom…Well, I was going to say it's seven-thirty, but–no wait, it's seven-thirty. Tom, what are you doing up at seven-thirty in the morning?"

Dmitry froze, mid-yawn. "What?" he half-shouted, causing the room's other occupants to restlessly stir in their sleep. "You woke me up at _seven-thirty _in the morning? You're a bloody wanker, Tom. I'm going back to bed." He dramatically fell back onto his mattress and pulled the covers up over his head.

Tom chuckled and it made Harry smile happily. The other boy had been so unlike himself recently that any action like his old-persona was greatly welcomed. He bent over to his trunk and pulled out more clothes.

_Will it be cold in Hogsmeade today?_ He turned to Tom, who was giving Harry a bit of privacy by studying his nails. "Hey Tom, you think it'll be cold today?"

"Probably." Harry threw the T-shirt back in his trunk and pulled on a dark green turtle-neck and black slacks. He sat on the bed next to Tom, who turned when he felt the dip beside him. "Did you do that on purpose?"

Harry was confused. "Do what?"

"Match your clothes with your natural appearance."

"Erm, no?" Tom snorted. "Hey, don't laugh at me! It's not my fault that I lack the perceptiveness about how to match myself correctly so I don't look stupid."

"I never said you looked stupid." They were quiet for a bit as Harry tied up the laces on his shoes. "Why are you up so early? You were just berating me on my inability to sleep in, so how come you saw fit to be an early bird today?"

"I dunno. I had a weird dream and woke up two hours ago. I couldn't fall back asleep."

"I see." Tom looked at the boy sleeping in the bed across from Harry. "It's okay, Harry. It's natural to have… those types of dreams."

Harry frowned, confused for a moment. How could Tom possibly know about what he was dreaming?

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tom."

Tom sighed and turned back around to look Harry in the eyes. He placed a hand on the younger boy's shoulder and said in a very serious voice, "It's okay, you don't have to feel embarrassed. We're best friends, you can tell me anything. Although, I think you might be a late bloomer to have started having those sorts of dreams at the age of fifteen…"

Harry turned beet-red, realizing what Tom was insinuating. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times before grasping around for a pillow, finding one, and using it to bludgeon the side of Tom's head

"I didn't mean a dream like _that_," he hissed. "I didn't–not with–"

"Oho, so you _do _admit to having a dream _somewhat _like that, but not with whom, hmm?" Tom said with a smirk, catching other boy's wrist to prevent the pillow from making contact with his head again. Harry's blush deepened and he opened his mouth to indignantly tell Tom off, when–

"Could you two either keep it down or leave the room? I'd rather not picture Harry thinking about or involved in promiscuous escapades, if you don't mind," came Dmitry's slightly muffled voice from his bed.

Feeling very embarrassed, Harry wrenched his arm out of Tom's grasp and quickly strode across the room and out the door. He heard Tom's footfalls close behind him but didn't turn around.

"Where are you going?"

"Where does it look like?" Harry snapped, perhaps a bit harsher than he meant. "There's nothing to do here, so I might as well get breakfast." He didn't ask if Tom would come too, he knew the other boy wouldn't stop following him until they reached his destination. "You never did answer me why you were up so early, Tom."

Harry could practically _feel_ the smirk behind him. "I had a weird dream and couldn't go back to sleep."

Harry scowled at his friend's response. He didn't like it whenever Tom purposefully hid something from him. He didn't like the feelings it stirred up inside him–a mixture of anger and jealousy, with the jealousy only coming heavily into play when someone else knew what he was denied.

They continued on to the Great Hall in silence, neither sparking up the conversation again. When he reached the room, Harry took note of how deserted it was; only two Ravenclaws and the Divination professor (whom he did not know–he had decided against taking Divination again) were there. Harry stalked over to the Slytherin table and took a seat, Tom settling down next to him, and waited, trying to decide what he wanted to eat.

After a few moments, Tom broke the silence between them.

"So," he began in a decidedly casual way, picking an orange up out of the fruit basket in front of them, "what are you going to do today with Aquila?"

Harry groaned and placed his forehead on his empty plate. "Don't remind me."

Tom started peeling the orange, not bothering to spare Harry even a glance. "Why not? It's your first date, after all. In your whole life. You remember these sorts of things, so I just want to make sure you aren't going to mess it up by going somewhere stupid, like Madame Puddifoot's." Tom grimaced and Harry grinned, remembering when Tom had been dragged there at the end of last year by one of his many admirers. The date hadn't lasted long, and the girl looked as if she was going to cry by the end of it.

Harry snorted. Like hell he was ever going back to that overly-pink shop. No way, never again, not even if someone paid him. "Then where do you think I should go?" He did appreciate the helpful advice Tom supplied from time-to-time.

"I dunno." Now was not one of those times.

Harry glowered at his friend. "What do you mean 'I dunno'? You said you were trying to make sure I didn't go anywhere ridiculous, yet you're not even going to give me any guidance as to where I _should_ go?"

"No-pe," Tom said, giving the word two syllables. He'd finished peeling the orange, and was now taking the wedges apart.

Harry's frown deepened. Tom had been like this all week, and it was starting to get a bit annoying. He would pop up at random times to give Harry his company, act like he was going to say something relatively useful or important, and then drop the topic like a hot potato. Quite frankly, Harry was getting sick of it.

"What sharp pointy object crawled up your arse and _died_, Tom? You've been acting like a dick all week." Oh, if only his old friends could see him now. Saying those kinds of things to Voldemort and not being crucioed on the spot.

Tom popped a segment of the orange in his mouth and turned to Harry. "'What's wrong with me?' What's wrong with _you_? Since when have you liked Aquila? It's not that I have a problem with you having crushes on people, but I would have thought that you would have at least told me about it," he finished with a little sniff.

Harry couldn't help but find the situation oddly amusing. And gratifying. It meant that he wasn't the only one who got jealous, and he loved whenever that information chose to show itself. "I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Like her."

Tom blinked. It was now his turn to be surprised. "The why are you going out with her?"

Harry took a biscuit from the platter next to the fruit dish and cut it open. "Because Orion, the bloody idiot, volunteered me to go before I could say no." He got some eggs and sausage, and turned his lone biscuit into a mini sandwich. "You were there when I explained it at dinner, weren't you listening."

"I was, but you still could have turned her down."

"Not when she'd already flounced off to join her friends. I can't lose face with people by going up and saying, 'Just kidding.'"

"I know, I wasn't saying you should…" A thoughtful look crossed Tom's face. "And how do you plan on extracting your revenge?"

Harry choked his sandwich. Once he finished hacking the food back up, he said, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," a mischievous smile overtook the contemplative frown. It had been so long since Harry had seen that expression on his friend's face. "Surely you aren't going to let him get away with this? He's forced you into doing something you _really_, by the sound of things, don't want to do and can't back out of now because it's the last second, and you'll look like a total arse."

"True."

"So don't you think that you deserve to take retribution?"

"Possibly, but I'm not quite sure how. He's not really embarrassed by anything and he's already a total ladies-man, so it's not like I can pull the same maneuver." Harry paused, and Tom took that moment to break in.

"Don't worry, I'll handle it." As much as he didn't want to be, Harry couldn't help but become excited when he saw the look of pure wickedness that crossed over Tom's face. He knew that look well, and what was to come from it.

"Alright." He and Tom continued with their conversation, not really talking about anything important but never letting the flow come to a halt, until the Great hall had filled with people and their three friends finally showed up.

"I'm still mad at you." Dmitry sat down next to Harry, but his comment was directed at Tom. "I was having a really good dream when you came in and woke me up. It took ages for me to fall back asleep again."

"Well, look at that, Harry," Tom said, eyes wide with faux amazement. "It seems like we all had great dreams last night"

"I never said my dream was _good_, I said it was _weird_," Harry grumbled, annoyed with Tom for bringing it up again.

"Oh, Tom woke you up?" Orion asked, completely ignoring the dream comments and sitting down across from the other three, with Abraxas on his left. He plopped a huge spoonful of eggs onto his plate and began poking at it with his fork. "How come?"

"Hell if I know. Why'd you wake me up, Tom?"

Tom closed his eyes and shrugged. "My business is my own."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Dork." Tom pushed him and Harry shoved back.

"Looks like some people are on better terms now, huh?" Abraxas always noticed whenever Tom and Harry had a quarrel. Harry didn't know how he was able to tell when the other two were always oblivious to it.

"What? Tom and Harry were fighting?" Case in point.

"Not really, Orion. They were just in the middle of an, ah, misunderstanding?"

Harry nodded. "Yep. It wasn't a big deal, so we're cool again, I guess."

"That's good. " Orion shoved some eggs into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "So what are you going to do on your date today?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the word "date."

The palm of Harry's hand made contact with his face. _What. An. Idiot._Tom sipped some tea that had mysteriously poured itself into his cup when Harry wasn't looking. "What date?"

Orion looked at Tom with wide eyes. "Oh come on. You know, the date with Aquila. We talked about this on Monday." God, Orion and Sirius were so alike sometimes. Completely. Oblivious.

"No, I don't know about any date that Harry set up with Aquila. The only date I know of is the one that _you_ forced on him."

"Wha–? I didn't force any dates onto Harry!"

"Really?" Tom gazed shrewdly at Orion over the rim of his teacup. "Did Harry ask Aquila out?"

"No, she asked him to go with her."

"Did Harry answer with a yes?"

"No, I did, but I knew he–"

"Has Harry ever even shown any interest in Aquila before?"

"No…"

"Have you even asked him if he _wants_ to go out with her?"

Orion paled. "Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry Harry. I'm such an idiot. Why does this always happen?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Always? I thought this was the first time."

"Well it is, but–"

"Then don't be so over-dramatic. Harry will find a way to get even in due time, you can be sure of _that_." Abraxas and Dmitry, who'd been watching the whole event play out with mild interest, sniggered at the sight of sheer horror etched on Orion's face.

"Noooooo! Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned!"

"Theatrics," Tom trilled in a sing-song voice. Orion shut up and focused on eating the rest of his breakfast. It was probably the first time they had gone through a whole meal without the constant babbling of the young Lord Black. They finished eating and left the Great Hall. Aquila was standing just outside with a small group of her friends. She saw Harry and waved.

"Hi, Harry." Harry forced a smile, which probably looked more like a grimace, if Tom's muffled laughter meant anything, and waved back. He had to admit, she looked nice that day. Her loose strawberry blonde curls were left to hang around her shoulders, and her bright saphire eyes were even brighter with anticipation. "You ready to go?" Harry nodded and politely extended his arm, which she immediately took hold of.

"Let's go." Harry didn't look back, but he could feel the eyes of his friends on his retreating form. He didn't want to see their expressions. _It shouldn't be too bad, this date.__At least I'll be able to buy Tom's gifts without him getting suspicious…_

Aquila and he trudged from the castle up the dirt path towards Hogsmeade. There was no talk between them. For Harry, the silence was uncomfortable, but he guessed from the smile on her face, that Aquila didn't share the same sentiments as himself. When the pair reached the edge of town, they stopped. Harry still wasn't sure where he wanted to take Aquila, so he decided that asking the girl was probably best. "Where do you want to go first?"

Aquila frowned. She thought that Harry would've planned out the day already. She was an extremely attractive girl who had boys lining up for a chance to get with her, and she chose Harry. Wasn't that an _honor_? So why hadn't the Slytherin boy already decided what they were going to do? _Unless_, a little voice in the back of her head began, _he's trying to win you over by letting you choose where to go first_. Aquila smiled, pleased. She liked that idea. "Hmmm. Let's go to the robes shop next to Dervish and Bangs. I've been thinking, lately, that I need a new cloak since it'll be getting colder soon."

Harry nodded. "Lead the way." He didn't want to go shopping for clothes. It was stupid, in his opinion. He knew that Aquila already had at least three heavy winter cloaks; she didn't exactly try to hide the fact. Maybe she was just trying to impress him with her money since he was from a muggle orphanage? Harry snorted. It wouldn't work. He was, after all, a Potter in the 1990's, as well as Sirius' heir, and that meant he was entitled to a _lot_ of gold.

They got to the robes shop, which turned out to be a Hogsmeade branch of _Madam Malkin's. _Harry didn't even know one of those existed, but he entered the tiny store anyway.

"Welcome!" said an over-enthusiastic sales lady when they entered. She pranced right up to Harry and Aquila. "My name's Avis, and I'll help you out today. Is there anything you're looking for in particular?"

"Yes," Aquila smiled at the hyperactive girl, "I'm looking for a new winter cloak, preferably one with a fur trim. Do you have any of those in stock?"

"Why yes we do! Right this way," she took Aquila's wrist and dragged her into the forest of clothes. Harry stared after them. The sales-girl was strange, but at least she'd gotten rid of the Aquila-problem. He chuckled in his head. Aquila-problem. Oh, he was definitely using that from now on whenever referring to the tiresome girl.

He didn't want to just stand there looking strange, so he began browsing the racks of clothes. Nothing in the store would be good enough for Tom, though. In the end, he would most likely by his friend a book or two and some candy. It was all he could afford on the little money Hogwarts provided for him, and Tom never complained. His face always broke out into a radiant smile every time he saw that Harry got him _two_ presents. It was true that Abraxas, Orion and Dmitry also got multiple presents for Tom, but since Harry was the first to ever do so, that meant that the ones he bestowed on Tom were special in the older boy's eyes.

"How's this one, Harry?" He turned. It looked… exactly like every other cloak she owned. He really couldn't tell the difference.

"Very nice." He wasn't a fool. Better to pretend rather than offend.

Aquila smiled. Apparently that was exactly what she wanted to hear. "You really think so? It's not to tacky, is it?" She gave a little twirl. When she did so, the bottom of the cloak came up off the ground a bit, and Harry could see that the whole inside was lined with fur, which he was pretty sure wasn't faux.

"Not at all." He smiled. "It suits your personality to a tee."

Aquila giggled. "Then I'll get it. You wait here, while I go find Avis. Think of where we should go next, 'k?" She wandered back into the maze of clothes to find the sales-girl, and Harry went back to looking at scarves. It wasn't long before Aquila returned, newly wrapped package in hand. "So where to next?" She took Harry's hand this time; he hid his discomfort well.

"How about the bookstore?"

Aquila didn't seem to like that idea too much. She scrunched up her face in distaste "Bookstore? Why would you want to go to the bookstore? It's so…" she struggled to find the right words, "dull. And dreary. It also smells a bit like moldy books. What would possibly compel you to want to visit that place?"

Harry mentally rolled his eyes. It seemed as though Aquila wasn't much of a novel devotee…

"I just want to see if they've added anything to their selection."

Aquila pondered the reason for a minute before conceding. "Alright, we'll go." She smiled at Harry. "But you have to treat me to lunch at The Three Broomsticks after." Aquila pulled Harry out of the store. He shook his head. This was turning out to be the second to worst date he'd ever been on. Aquila pulled Harry back down the lane with the death-grip she had on his wrist.

_At least The Three Broomsticks is better than Madame Puddifoot's…_

More people from Hogwarts were on the street now. They got to the bookstore and quickly went inside. Harry didn't know what Aquila was talking about when she said the place smelled of moldy books. It smelled like a normal bookstore should. He looked at the clock above the cashier. It wasn't even eleven yet and she wanted him to take her to lunch immediately after? Harry was going to spend a _long_ time in this store, guaranteed. He had been spacing off a bit in an attempt to figure out how to best waste time, but was pulled back to earth when Aquila tugged on his sleeve. "I'm going to look over there," she pointed towards a bunch of magazines and newspapers. Harry nodded.

"And I'll be…" he paused to think. "Somewhere in the store." He turned and walked away from her. He knew that she'd wanted him to read the magazines with her, but he really didn't like the types of gossip they carried. He could say from experience that about ninety percent of the time, it wasn't true. Harry perused the shelves, eyeing the titles, trying to find something that would interest Tom that the boy hadn't read before. It was a difficult task. The only books Harry could think of were books that the Hogwarts library didn't offer, which meant that they had to be filled with "dark" spells. Harry sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time. This was going to be difficult.

He continued his search, stopping every now and again to pull out a text and flip through its pages. However, it always ended with him placing it back on the shelf. He wandered further and further into the store. It was hopeless. His search was fruitless and Harry knew he wasn't going to find any useful books in this store. It was only a small shop in Hogsmeade, after all. He pulled another book off the shelf.

_Plants and your Potions, what a stupid name for a book. _

He was about to put it back in its place when a small black book came into his line of sight. It was tucked behind the other tomes at the very back of the shelf. Intrigued as to what the tiny novel contained, Harry pulled the other books out as well. The dark book fell heavily, face up, onto the shelf. Harry stared at the title. It was written in Parseltongue. It escaped Harry as to why a book in Parseltongue would be hidden away in a third-rate shop, but he really didn't care. He'd just found the perfect gift, if it didn't cost him a fortune. Harry was sure it would, unless–

_Unless the owner has no idea what this really is and thinks it to be garbage._

He hastily replaced the other novels and brought his prize up to the counter where a middle-aged man was waiting. The cashier looked at the cover of the book and back at Harry.

"Why would you want this? You can't read it, you know. It's not in English. It's not in any language, really, I've had it sent to experts."

_Some experts they must have been,_ Harry thought sarcastically, yet jumping for joy that no one had recognized the tome's true value.

"I'm getting it as a gift. For a friend. I think they would enjoy it. I don't know why, but he likes things like this. Unexplainable mysteries."

The man smiled wistfully. "Yes, mysteries. That'll be ten galleons."

He fished the money out of his bag and handed it over to the cashier, who took it and placed the book in a plain brown paper bag. "Have a nice day."

"You too." Harry went over to Aquila who was standing by the magazines, flipping through their pages with an obviously bored expression on her face. "You ready?"

She closed her current magazine with a huff. "The real question is are _you_ done? You took _ages_ in there. What did you end up getting?"

Harry shrugged. "Just a book."

Her blue eyes narrowed before, like a parasite, she reattached herself onto Harry's arm. "Well, come on then. You're treating me to lunch." She and Harry left the store, and Aquila directed them towards The Three Broomsticks. They reached the door of the pub and went inside. It was crowded with Hogwarts students, which was probably the reason why Aquila brought them there instead of a more quiet location for their "date". She wanted to show him off, not that Harry wasn't used to it. However, it was because he was used to it, that he was able to ascertain what her ulterior motives were. They made their way over to an empty table in the corner. Aquila hung her cloak over the back of the seat before lowering herself into a chair. Harry remained standing.

"What do you want to eat?" He knew he'd have to give their orders to the bartender directly, which was why he didn't join Aquila in sitting.

"Just fish and chips. And a butterbeer." Aquila smiled, showing off her rows of straight, pearly-white teeth. Harry nodded to indicate that he understood, before walking up to the barkeep. A woman with very curly, very orange, hair stood there polishing a cup. When Harry got up to the counter, she set the glass down.

"What can I do you for, love?"

"Two butterbeers, an order of fish and chips, and a turkey sandwich." Merlin he wanted a cheeseburger, but the magical world didn't seem to supply those. He hated it whenever he got a craving for something completely muggle.

The woman's head bobbed up and down as she wrote the order on a piece of paper. "Okay then, just wait right there for a few minutes." With a flick of her wrist, the tiny paper was flying back into the kitchens. The bartender went over to a case and pulled out two bottled butterbeers and a tray. She placed all these objects in front of Harry, before going back to cleaning the shot glasses. Harry had decided during his second third year, the first time he saw this particular red-headed barmaid, that she was most-likely Madam Rosmerta's mother. Or grandmother._ Some sort of family relation. _

The woman placed Aquila's and his food on the tray with the butterbeers'. "That'll be four galleon's, three sickles and a knut." Harry forked over the exact change, picked up the food-laden tray, and brought it back to where Aquila was waiting. He placed it on the table and sat down across from her, rather than in the empty seat beside her he knew she'd wanted him to take.

"Thank you, Harry," Aquila said in a voice she knew usually left boys staring after her lustily. She'd forgiven him for his discourteous behavior in the bookstore, and was now attempting to seduce him. He was quite the catch, after all. Handsome, intelligent, witty–every fifth-year female in Hogwarts knew that the best potential mate of their year was Evans, and Aquila knew they would be foaming at the mouth with jealousy if they knew she had managed to snag a date with him. Which was precisely the reason why she'd insisted they have lunch at the over-crowded Three Broomsticks where everyone could see them and she could bask in the attention, rather than a quieter, more romantic restaurant she knew Hogsmeade supplied.

Harry grunted an acknowledgement through his sandwich and continued to chew, trying his best not to start a conversation with the girl across from him.

Aquila narrowed her eyes and frowned, gnawing gently on her bottom lip. Every time she tried to make it better, Harry made it worse. It was swiftly becoming impossible for her to have any good feelings about the direction their date had taken. Harry showed no interest in where they went, but when he did, he ignored her. It was a cycle that had Aquila becoming more furious as the minutes ticked by. She wasn't used to having to put any effort into getting a guy–she was an Edavane for Merlin's sake–so she was more than a little pissed off when, by the end of their meal, Harry had barely said more than three complete sentences to her. Guys from every year and every House usually came to her, _begging_ for a chance to be with her, for her to send even the tiniest glance their way…

Naturally, she'd given Harry the benefit of the doubt for the first portion of their meal, assuming he was either shy or overwhelmed by her presence. She'd even attempted to begin conversations that could have lasted the rest of the day if the correct words were spoken. Yet the Slytherin dining with her had somehow managed to nip them in the bud before they had even begun to grow. It wasn't an accident, she'd decided. And it wasn't ignorance on his part either. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly what he was saying, and he was using the minimal amount of words necessary for their conversations to end prematurely. He was murdering any chance she might have with him and it was making her livid. He didn't even _know_ her, personally, of course, for he would have surely heard of her pure, aristocratic background. But he was going to nonchalantly ignore and push her away into the sidelines where all the other _common_ girls observed? No. She would have none of that.

They each finished their meal and Harry brought their dishes back up to the bar while Aquila stayed at the table, scheming and summoning up the courage required to put her plan into action. It was a much-used idea that had never failed her in acquiring a new conquest before; not that there had been many times in the past when she'd desperately needed to call upon her dormant skill. She could count them all, including her predicament today, on one hand. Harry returned and waited, patiently next to the chair he'd sat in, for her to stand. But she wouldn't do as he wished. Not immediately, at least. _She_ was in control and was not to be ordered about, even if it was a silent one.

Aquila smiled prettily up at her date, disguising her rage well. "Where to now, Harry?"

Said boy looked up at the wooden rafters thoughtfully before replying, "Honeydukes, I guess."

Aquila smirked, masking the grimace that would have surely taken its place. Honeydukes was stuffy and over-crowded. Always. She wanted to be seen with Harry, but not suffocated. It was time to turn up her extraordinary powers of flirtation.

"Got a little sweet tooth, Harry?" she purred. "Well, Honeydukes is nice and all, but I bet I can give you something much more," she leaned forward, allowing her loose shirt to hang down a bit, exposing her chest, "delectable."

It would be a lie if Harry said he wasn't put-off by the girl's slutty antics. Couldn't she tell that he obviously didn't want to be spending time with her? He had been dropping hints all day by being aloof and standoffish. Why wouldn't this girl take a hint?

"I have to go there to buy some presents," he explained, deliberately averting his eyes and allowing his mouth to contort into a small frown.

Aquila gnashed her teeth together, holding in her temper and the scathing remarks she wished to make. How _dare_ he continue to show no interest in her? She'd practically offered herself to him on a silver platter! Her breasts had never failed her before, as soon as she'd hit puberty…

_Maybe he really just doesn't get it,_ Aquila thought with a calculating gaze. She'd never seen Harry with another girl before, never heard through the Hogwarts grapevine of him being at all intimate with someone of the opposite sex… _Maybe I'm his first?_

With that thought placating her slightly, she leaned back and continued to smile at him. "Why are you going shopping now? Is it for someone's birthday? Christmas isn't for another, what, two months?"

Harry sighed. "It's not a birthday. I just want to get my Christmas shopping over with now. It's easier that way, for me. I had honestly been planning on doing my shopping during this trip since the one we had last month."

Aquila's eyes narrowed. "Then why did you ask me out on this date if you were just going to ignore me the whole time, huh?"

Harry resisted the urge to smack his forehead with his palm and instead opted to massage the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Was Aquila really this stupid?

"I didn't," he replied through gritted teeth. "You asked me out, remember? And even then I wasn't the one who agreed to it, Orion was. And I couldn't just say 'no.' He would pester me for a reason why I denied you until I finally caved, and I didn't want them to know I was out buying presents for anyone. Besides, it's not like I'm buying things for all of them. I just have to get gifts for the one who happens to be particularly nosey when it comes to this subject. However, if you're just going to constantly be a bother to me, even when I was kind enough to let you unknowingly ruin my plans and not say anything about it, like a _gentleman_, then I see no reason for us to continue to accompany each other. Especially when it's obvious that neither one of us is happy with the arrangement."

He pivoted and stalked out of the establishment. It was a lame excuse, he knew, but he didn't want to have to deal with her throwing herself at him for the rest of the day. He wasn't interested in _anything_ she had to offer, so it was for the best that they parted ways before something unfortunate happened.

He'd made it out the doors and down a side alley that he happened to know was a short cut to Honeydukes when he heard someone call his name from behind. He knew it was Aquila, but stopped and half-turned back to humor her. He did feel a tiny bit guilty over having ruined what could have been a pleasant day for her, after all.

Aquila was beyond furious with Harry. He'd practically humiliated her in front of the _entire_ bar. Granted, he was kind enough to keep his voice low so that no unnecessary ears would pick up their conversation, but he'd still stormed out by himself, leaving her alone at the table with many a-stare on her person. It was lucky for her that she'd been raised a Pureblood and could overcome the situation with dignity. She'd stood gracefully and quickly hurried after Harry. She'd _never_ been the dumpee before, always the dumper, and was not _about_ to go down that unrelenting path. It would also severely injure her reputation if it became known that Harry Evans had ended their date prematurely. Aquila was glad, though, when she observed Harry flit down a deserted street, avoided by most people who would rather walk in the sun than the cold shadows of buildings. It was the perfect place for their confrontation to take place, unnoticed.

She'd called out his name and was further delighted when he stopped his retreat. It meant he would listen to what she had to say. It was evident to her that Harry was not in his right state of mind, so she would be willing to forgive him when he came around, after her… explanation. Well, more like seduction rather than an explanation. She didn't know what she could _say_ to make him come back to her, so she'd use her body in a more obvious way than before. Harry had never been with anyone in his life, and the best way to ensnare someone as innocent as him would be with actions rather than words.

As the distance between them closed, Aquila allowed her mouth to stretch into a seductive smirk, thoughts of how to capture Harry's interests swirling about inside her head. She was sure she'd come out victorious in the long run of things. After all, what kind of man would ditch a girl as aesthetically pleasing as she was?

She sauntered up to Harry, pressing her supple breasts into his arm. She opened her crystal-blue eyes wide and looked up at him through thick lashes. "I'm sorry, Harry." Her chest rubbed against his arm with each deliberately deep breath she took. "I know I said something foolish back there, but I don't want you to give up on me yet. I know I can be of… _t__remendous_ use to you."

Harry knew she meant sex or some sort of sexual favor; he wasn't that thick. He was, however, amazed that Aquila seemed to possess no dignity at all. He'd though that a classy Pureblood raised in a family like hers, pruned from childhood to become a sophisticated wife, would at least have a _shred_ of self-respect. The willingness Aquila harbored to throw herself at him, even though they hadn't spent any time together before that day, shocked him. He was sure he'd given off his message loud and clear. He. Did. Not. Want. Her. Any respect Harry may have previously had for Aquila, or any that may have stemmed in the future was immediately burned to ash in his mind. He wished he hadn't stopped.

"_You_, of tremendous use to _me_?" She needed to be put in her place and shown that Harry wanted _nothing_ to do with he _ever_ again. He scoffed. "Please, my arse is of more use to me than you will ever _hope_ to be." It wasn't like he was _lying_, per se. His rear end provided a lovely cushion for him anytime he sat down, and, therefore, was of more use to him that Aquila. He wrenched himself from her body and tried to hurry away, but he was caught again in her grasp.

"_Excuse me?"_ she hissed, eyes burning with indignation and obviously enraged.

"You heard me," Harry snapped, disappointed that his attempted escape had been thwarted again. "I have no use for you, and I doubt I ever will."

"You say that now, but you have no idea of the skills I possess," Aquila sneered, digging her nails into Harry's forearm.

Harry narrowed his eyes and jerked his arm away, using it to clutch her jaw and drag her closer to him. He couldn't help as his upper lip curled in distaste as Aquila's pupils dilated and her eyelids drooped, clear that she was more than a little turned-on by Harry's actions.

"No, I don't know what skills you _possess_, nor do I ever wish to be made aware of them. I do not wish to better know you, and I hope that you do not approach me with any favors or dates _ever again,_" he emphasized, enjoying how her eyes widened with shock at his words. "You are nothing but a worthless piece of _trash_, what with how you throw yourself about like a harlot, and I would appreciate it greatly if you pretend that I don't exist, for you can be sure I will be extending the service to you as well."

He roughly let go of her jaw and she stumbled backwards, blinking fast to keep the tears from being released and rolling down her cheeks. Harry didn't want a reply from her and didn't want to stick around. He hated it whenever people cried around him, and he already felt bad enough about saying those things, not that they weren't true. He hoped she finally decided to give up on him.

Harry turned and stalked, as fast as he could without running, out of the alleyway and back onto the main street, where he quickly made his way towards Honeydukes. He'd said he wanted to go there, so he would. He opened the door and entered the shop, the sweet smell of sucrose filling his nostrils. He spent the next thirty minutes in the store, cooling down from his tirade. It didn't take him that long to pick out what he wanted for Tom, but he didn't want to go out onto the road and risk running into, what was sure to be, a very pissed-off Aquila. When he was done, he left Hogsmead and returned early to Hogwarts.

The journey back was uninterrupted, seeing as how Harry was the only one on the path, and instead of going to his common room, he wandered up to the library. Again, this was for his protection. If Aquila was in the common room, she might kill him for acting the way he did to her, and he really didn't wish for another confrontation that day. He was tired from the first and was sure that Aquila would try to do something to get back at him for the words he'd said, even if there were no witnesses. He had thought about it on the long trek back and decided that even though the girl was hard-headed and acted a bit promiscuous, she really didn't deserve the treatment that Harry had given her. She had simply been trying to win his affections, granted, not in the best of ways, and he'd just ignored and slighted her without a second thought. He could have been more polite with turning her away, but he wasn't and it bothered him that he let it get to him.

Another reason why he didn't want to visit the common room was the chance that he might run into his friends. If they had returned from Hogsmeade early, or not gone at all (which was highly unlikely), they would surely be in the common room, enjoying the petrified looks shot their way by first and second years. And Harry didn't want to receive the third degree as to why he'd returned early and alone. In fact, he wanted to keep the situation as under-wraps as he could.

However, fate seemed to enjoy stringing Harry along like a bunny chasing a carrot, making him believe one thing and then throwing something completely unexpected his way. He walked in and immediately saw, at a small table in the corner–hidden away but completely visible from the door–Orion, Abraxas, and Dmitry.

_Just slowly retrace your steps. They won't even know you were here. One, two, three-_

"Harry!" _Damn, so close!_

Harry gave a half smile to Dmitry, who was waving enthusiastically at the raven-haired boy. Unfortunately, that meant that the other two Slytherin boys also became aware of his presence. Harry sighed. _No way to get out of this one…_He slowly walked over to his friends and sat down in one of the hard, wooden chairs.

"Hey guys, what are you doing here?" Harry didn't miss the worried glance Orion sent towards Abraxas or the stern glare the blonde returned. _Definitely suspicious._

"Uhh, not much," Orion answered with a shrug and an easy grin. "Just homework, you know."

"Right," Harry said slowly, not believing a word. He and his friends never had to take extra time in the library on weekends to finish their assignments. That was the beauty of being friends with Tom. The elder boy was willing to answer any questions they had, and his brain was similar to a database of infinite information. "And what about Hogsmeade, hmm?"

"We went, for a bit. Hey, wait a minute!" Orion quickly changed the subject. "Why are _you_ here? Shouldn't you be out on a date?"

Harry groaned and let his forehead land on the table. Just the conversation he'd been trying to avoid. "Don't remind me. Please. _Don't._"

Dmitry chuckled evilly. "Oh, I've _got_ to hear this. Anything to elicit such a reaction from poor Harry over here must be filled with juicy information. What happened?"

"You're worse than some of the girls, what with the way you thrive off of gossip, Dmitry," Harry said, scowling. "And nothing happened. Nothing worth mentioning, at least."

"If it was nothing worth mentioning then you wouldn't be back here, with your head on the table, and groaning about it," Dmitry replied with a smirk. "Just tell me. Maybe it will make you feel better? Share your load with the rest of us."

"Yes, I'm positively _quivering_ in anticipation to know how your lovely outing went."

"Don't be such a sarcastic git, 'Raxas," Orion scolded. "Just because Aquila wanted to accompany Harry rather than you–"

"Hold on!" Harry shot up, the momentum causing his chair to tip back and him to wave his arms wildly in a circular motion until all four legs were steadily back on the ground; an action that had all the table's occupants chuckling at him. "You _what_?"

"Abraxas has had a bit of a crush on Aquila for a year now," Orion said, jerking his thumb towards the boy next to him, who happened to be glaring at the offending appendage.

"No I haven't, Orion–"

"Deny, deny, you really try, but in the end we all know why."

A tick began next to Abraxas' left eye. "I do _not_ have a _thing_ for that _girl_." He turned to an astonished Harry. "Don't listen to him. You know how he is. Once he's gotten a specific thought into his head, it's nearly impossible to convince him of otherwise."

"Yes, that's all fine and dandy," Dmitry broke in, "but I still wish to know how his date went." He sent puppy-dog eyes Harry's way. "Please?"

"Nothing, she just…" Harry struggled to find the right words. "She's just a bit of a… slut, I guess, and I didn't want to continue spending time with her."

"Seriously? What could she have done to make your opinion of her so low?"

"Acted like a slut, obviously," Orion chirped, and then winced as the Malfoy heir kicked him in the shin.

"It started out okay," Harry began, ignoring Orion. "We got to Hogsmead and she asked me where I wanted to go. I felt like being nice and instead told her that she could choose. She didn't seem to like that much really, why I don't know. It's not like I know anything about her, so I thought it would be a good idea for her to choose. Anyway, she chose to go to this clothing stare to get a new cloak–though, I really have no clue why she would want to get another one of those, she already had three. We went there and she tried on this cloak where the whole inside was lined with real fox fur. It was pretty on her, so I told her that–"

"Nice to know you aren't completely useless."

"_Orion_."

"Sorry 'Raxas. Continue, Harry."

"Right. Well I told her it looked pretty, and so she bought it. Then she asked me where I wanted to go, again, so this time I said I wanted to go to the bookstore they have. I wanted to get Tom's present early, considering he's a no-good bastard who likes to stalk me whenever I try to buy him things. She didn't like that plan either. I mean, what's wrong with her?" Harry complained in a whiney voice. "She wanted me to take control, but _only_ take control if it led to places she wanted to go. I can't read her mind, she should have understood that. We got to the store and she went to look at magazines while I searched for a good gift, which I found by the way–"

"What is it?"

"_Dmitry_," Abraxas growled.

"Sorry, sorry. Go on."

"I'm not going to tell you what I got. It's a secret. If Tom decides to tell you, he'll tell you when he opens it, but I won't. Anyway, I bought the book but then had to take her to lunch at The Three Broomsticks. I didn't decide to do that. She told me that if we went to the bookstore, then I would have to treat her to lunch there. It was kind of stupid. Actually, I really don't understand why I had to pay for her at all. Sure it was a date, but she could have paid for herself. It was like me paying for her was my punishment for not choosing someplace that she wanted to go. That actually makes me a bit mad, now that I think about it. We ate there, but I didn't really try to talk to her. She attempted conversation a few times, but eventually gave up. Then things started to get weird."

"How'd things get weird?"

"How'd things get weird_er_, is more like it."

"Maybe if you two would just _shut up_, he'll tell us."

Harry smiled. "Thanks Abraxas. Things got weird because she asked me where I wanted to go. Again."

"But how–" One death glare from Abraxas made Orion swallow whatever ridiculous thing he'd been about to say.

"I told her I wanted to go to Honeydukes. It was then that she tried to, erm, flirt with me, I guess. She told me that she could give me something better than candy. I told her I had to buy presents at Honeydukes. Then she got mad at me and told me that I shouldn't keep ignoring her when we were out on a date. She'd even had the audacity to claim that _I_ was to one who'd asked her out. By that time, I was just so fed up with her that I told her that the date was off, and left. I was nice too. Didn't even say any completely hurtful things. But I swear, that girl can't take a _hint_. If she could, things wouldn't have gotten as bad as they did." Harry sighed and shook his head. "Basically, what happened after that was she caught up to me and tried to seduce me some more by rubbing her chest on my arm and with some words I won't repeat, and I, so put-off by her actions, said some rather hurtful things that I'm not particularly proud of and left. Of course, looking back on it, I feel a bit bad because it's almost like I strung her along…" He looked up at his speechless friends and waited for their onslaught of comments and questions.

Orion blinked several times. "Damn… I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't know she was like that. I mean, I knew she was pretty, and I'd heard from a few guys that she was pretty good with her mouth, but I never thought she would be so–"

"Loose?" Abraxas offered.

"Yeah," Orion nodded vigorously. "Loose. Well, I knew she was a bit slutty, actually, for doing those kinds of things with guys, but she was going out with them, I think, at the time. I just didn't think she would try to do anything on the first date. Or be such a–"

"Bitch?" Abraxas looked at his nails.

Orion shot him a dirty look. "I get it. I know I messed up, but you don't have to rub it in, 'Raxas!"

"Oh, I'm not trying to rub it in," Abraxas stated calmly. "I'm trying to prove to you that I have no affectionate feelings towards her whatsoever, and never have."

"Did she really rub up on you like that?" Dmitry questioned.

Harry grimaced. "Yeah. It was kind of gross though. I mean, I know she's extremely good-looking and well-endowed, but I couldn't 'stand up' while thinking of her in such a negative light." Harry looked thoughtful for a second. "Actually, now I know that she's gotten on her knees–"

"And back!"

Harry grimaced. "And back, for other guys, it makes me wonder if she has a wizard sleeve."

Once again, his friends were speechless. "A what?" Abraxas asked.

"A wizard sleeve." It was a muggle term Harry had once heard Dudley use when describing some porn star with his friends. Harry had thought it was hilarious, and therefore catalogued it in with all the other important things he deemed necessary to remember. "It's when the inner labia of a, um, vagina–" he grimaced at the word, "–protrudes well beyond the outer labia, giving it a 'wizard-sleeve' look." Harry gestured around in the air to show an example of what he meant. "Like the sleeves on our cloaks. It's actually, supposedly, a naturally occurring phenomenon but whenever I use the term, I just think of an extra loose vagina that someone's acquired from too much sex. So hearing that Aquila spreads her legs often, makes me wonder if she's got a wizard sleeve." When Harry finished his explanation, the other three Slytherins broke out into fits of giggles.

"Oh dear _Merlin_, that's hysterical! Where did you hear such a phrase?" Orion wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Heheheh. Wizard sleeve." Abraxas chuckled.

Harry shrugged. "It was a term muggles came up with–"

"Of course." Dmitry interrupted. "What would we do without those idiotic _muggles_ to provide us with the entertainment we so rightly deserve. Hahaha!"

"Quiet!" hissed a stern voice from behind Harry. He looked up only to meet eyes with the librarian, Madame Pince. She was younger, but still as foul-tempered as Harry remembered. "Some people are trying to study, so if you can't keep your voices down, you can all leave!"

Harry gulped. "Yes, Madame Pince." She huffed and walked back to her desk. The other boys were still chuckling. Harry glared at them. He wasn't even making noise! "Where's Tom, anyway?"

That shut them up rather quickly, causing Harry to return to the suspicious thoughts he'd had prior to the conversation about his date.

"Erm, he's busy." Dmitry answered.

"With what?"

"Homework, kind of."

"Don't lie to me," Harry said coldly. "Tom has never _once_ worked on homework during the weekend."

"He's, uh…" Dmitry floundered.

"Had to ask the Divination Professor a question," Abraxas smoothly took over. "He should be back any minute now, if you want to wait."

"Whatever." Harry scowled at the floor and dropped the subject. It was obvious that he wasn't going to get any answers out of them as a group. Maybe later when it was just Dmitry and him, and if he played his cards right…

"I'm going to get a book. I'll be back in a minute." He got up to peruse the shelves for a good book to read. He stopped at a big brown leather book that didn't really catch his eye, but still piqued his interest_. _

_Spellwork in Latin_. He blinked a few times and tucked the book under his arm, examining the book next to it, another large tome but in blue. _Spellwork in Greek_. He seemed to have stumbled across the section in the library that held books for creating spells. It was small, and Harry had never found it before, but all the tomes were huge. Harry placed the Greek book back on the shelf, and flipped through the Latin one. He decided that the reason for the book's thickness was, in part, due to the complete English-to-Latin dictionary in the back. It seemed to have every word in the English language, in very small print, taking up the end quarter of the book. After a moment, he decided to check the book out. Even though it had been eleven years, he still didn't know how he had managed to come back through time, and this book seemed to be the best place to find the information. He emerged from the rows of texts and went over to Madame Pince's desk to check it out. Once that awkward ordeal was over and done with, he turned around to return to his table, only to see that Tom was back. Harry smiled and began to walk back over to his friends. They were all speaking quietly, but stopped when Harry came up.

_More suspicious behavior, _he catalogued. "Hey, Tom."

Tom looked at Harry as the younger boy sat down next to him. "What's that book?" Harry showed him. "_Spellwork in Latin_? Why do you want to read that?"

Harry shrugged before placing the heavy book into his messenger bag where Tom's gifts were hidden. "No reason. Just thought it might be something stimulating enough to help me get to sleep at night, that's all." Tom could have his secrets, and Harry would have his.

"I see." Tom frowned. "Why aren't you out one your 'date'?" Harry groaned and put his head on the table. It was very comfortable, and kept the headache he knew would soon arrive, at bay.

Orion sniggered. "Two words, Tom." Tom looked at him. "Bitchy whore."

Tom huffed. "That doesn't tell me what happened, it only confirms what I had already guessed."

Harry moved his head slightly, just so he could give Tom a dirty look. "You knew I was going off with a hormonal twit, and you didn't _tell_ me? Even if you didn't want me to call it off and make myself look like a dick, you could have at least warned me that she was a tart."

"But where's the fun in that? You learn from experience or by mistakes."

"I hate you."

"Of course," Tom dismissed. "However, I still want to know what happened to make you aware of her promiscuous disposition."

"Fine. We went out, she was annoying, she couldn't take a hint, and she rubbed up on me while telling me that she would be more than willing to fuck my brains out."

"I'm sure there was more to it than _that_."

"There was, but I'm not telling you since you didn't give me any forewarning on the subject." He knew he was behaving childishly, but he couldn't care less. He brought his arms up under his head. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm tired. I didn't get much sleep last night, and I had a horrible day. I'm to freaked out about running into Aquila to go back to the common room, so I'm going to take a nap here. Wake me up before dinner and die." Harry shut his eyes and immediately fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Gah! I can't believe it took so long to update! I'm sooooo sorry for that, by the way. There was just this one part that I was having some extreme writer's block over... But it's here now, so yay~**

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><p><em>Betrayal is never easy to handle and there is no right way to accept it. <em>–Christine Feehan (Dark Demon)

_Empty portraits hung on the stone walls of equally empty corridors. Silence had settled over the castle, giving the illusion that his footfalls were echoing about at the same volume as deafening thunder. Autumn air floating through the open windows whipped around his face, throwing this already messy hair into even greater disarray and putting his much-hated scar on display for the world to see._

_Not that there was anyone around to view the disfigurement._

_As the door at the end of the hall grew larger and more defined with every hurried step he took, Harry's sense of urgency heightened. Blood pumped through his veins and pounded in his ears. He didn't slow or stop as the door grew closer. Bracing himself, he slammed it open, crossing the threshold of the bathroom and colliding easily with the marble sink. The entrance to the Chamber._

"Open_," he hissed, nerves tingling with uncomfortable anticipation at what he'd find at the other end. He wasn't sure why he was trying to get into the Chamber of Secrets, he didn't know what he expected to uncover when he got there. But something in the back of his mind drove him forward, overpowering any sense of logic that would have given him reason to pause and think the situation over._

_The faucet sank into the ground soundlessly, revealing the large, dark, slimy tube Harry hadn't seen in over a decade. He could feel cool air wafting up from its inner depths, dancing over his face and drying his eyes._

_Without any hesitation, he took a single step forward and plummeted down the endless shaft, dirtying his robes in the process. He hit the floor at the bottom and sprung up, continuing on his way. There was no need for him to cast Lumos to see, an eerie green light lit his path easily. He scrambled over the shed skin of the basilisk, eyes focused on the hall ahead. In this version of the Chamber, there was no rubble to indicate where Lockhart's Obliviate had gone wrong._

_The towering double doors at the end of the hall had no handles. Only two large pillars with carved serpents jutting out of the smooth stone–large, glittering emeralds set as eyes–stood like sentries next to them. Harry knew what he had to do._

"Open_." That single word, spoken in the language of snakes, and Harry could get anywhere he pleased down here. The doors gave way and he pushed through, each new hurried step reverberating off the marble floor and high, cathedral ceiling. _

_And then he saw him, standing there in the middle of the room, eyes trained on the gargantuan statue of Salazar Slytherin before him. Harry stopped a few paces behind his target, little puffy breaths visible as a white mist leaving his lips._

_The other boy didn't even turn. "Why have you come here, Harry?"_

_Harry's fists clenched unconsciously at his sides._

_"You can't do this, Tom."_

_"Can't I?" The older boy finally turned, eyes devoid of any emotion. Just two dark, empty pits placed on either side of his aristocratic nose._

_"No." Harry's voice was firm, unwavering in his decision. "You can't. I won't let you."_

_"Oh?" Tom allowed a wicked smile to play across his thin lips and subtly tilted his head to the side. "And how–" he took a step forward, "–do you plan–" step, "–on stopping me?" He was right in front of Harry now, allowing his greater height to contribute to his overall imposing form._

_The younger boy gulped but didn't back down. "I-I won't let you," he repeated, the confidence in his voice faltering, making him sound weaker, less sure of how he'd accomplish his end goal. "I'll find some way of stopping you, stopping this. I know I will, somehow…"_

_Tom's smirk widened, not missing the catch in Harry's voice and understanding what it meant. He leaned forward so that his mouth was centimeters away from the smaller boy's ear. He was so close that, when he spoke, his breath easily warmed the side of the other's face. _

_Harry shuddered. It was too real._

"_I'll let you in on a little secret," Tom whispered patronizingly, enjoying every nervous fidget Harry made at the closeness of their position. He leaned out just enough that he'd be able to see whatever emotion flickered across the younger one's face, enunciating every word slowly and clearly._

"_You. Can't. Stop. Me."_

_Closing the distance between the two, Tom's frozen lips had barely touched Harry's own, shocked pair, when the Chamber and everything in it began to dissolve in a whirl of darkened color._

"Wake up, wake _up._ Merlin, I'm _hungry_, Harry."

Green eyes blearily blinked open, taking in a practically abandoned library.

"I swear, if all the best treats are gone before we get to dinner, I'll string you up by your ankles! I'm sure there must be at least _one_ room full of fun little toys for torture in this whole God forsaken castle…" Dmitry threatened, giving Harry's shoulder another violent shake.

"The house elves in the kitchen would never let the food run scarce on Halloween," Harry mumbled, unperturbed, sitting up and batting Dmitry's pale hand away.

"_Finally_." Dmirty picked up his bag and danced away, turning his head back to Harry's motionless body once he'd reached the door. "Well, don't just sit there. I didn't wait around to wake you just so you'd miss out on the feast once you were up."

Harry yawned and stretched, enjoying the protesting of his stiff muscles. "Where's everyone else?" he asked once he'd made it to Dmitry's side.

"They left a while ago. I would have roused you and left with them, but you looked like you were having a rather interesting dream." Ice-blue eyes slid to observe the boy walking alongside him. "What sort of dream was it anyway, if you don't mind me asking? You were muttering a bit, unintelligibly, and kept adjusting yourself in your seat. I thought for sure you'd fall out on your arse and wake yourself up…"

Harry kept his facial muscles schooled in a mask of indifference as the strangeness of his subconscious encounter with Tom returned to him. He couldn't help but be intrigued at what had occurred. According to Cinderella's fairy godmother, dreams were wishes of the heart, but Harry didn't think he really _wanted_ to kiss Tom. Or be kissed. Or whatever. And he seriously doubted he wanted to take a trip down to the Chamber of Secrets, especially with the basilisk still alive…

Not to mention the fact that Cinderella was pure fantastical fiction.

"I don't remember."

Dmitry kept his curious eyes trained on Harry for a few steps longer before returning their sight to what lay ahead of him. "Yeah, that happens sometimes. I mean, I'll be having a dream, and I know it's amazing, but when I wake up, I can't remember anything. But usually I'm left with a longing to figure out what occurred during my REM state… Do you wish you could remember what you'd been dreaming of just now?"

"No."

Dmitry hummed absently but didn't pursue the topic. They walked in comfortable silence through the mostly quiet halls until the dim buzz of hundreds of conversations could be heard. Together they entered the Great Hall, but no one paid them any attention. The student body and faculty alike were all whole-heartedly consumed with gossiping and enjoying the mountains of sweets always provided by the house elves on Halloween.

They casually strolled over to their House table and sat with their small grouping of friends. Even though the seat next to Tom, always reserved for Harry, was empty, the younger boy opted to sitting in the free spot beside Orion, as far away from the other boy as possible. He wasn't completely comfortable with sitting so close to Tom after the strange dream he'd had. The other four Slytherin boys noticed something was a bit off with Harry, but Abraxas was the only one who commented on it.

"Are you feeling alright, Harry?" he asked, brow creased in obvious concern. As much as Abraxas enjoyed keeping up appearances of a cold and aloof Malfoy, he was very much like a mother hen when in came to his friends' health. "You're looking a bit pale. Would you rather skip dinner and go to bed?"

"Wouldn't skipping dinner make any possible condition he has worse?" Orion pointed out, sorting the peas out of his shepherd's pie. It wasn't as if the Halloween feast didn't consist of actual food too; it was just mostly filled with candies and pastries. And, though he severely wanted to pile up and consume only food that would surely give him cavities, Orion wasn't dimwitted enough to only eat the sugary products and give himself a horrid stomachache later. "He should put something in his body, even if it's only a piece of bread." He grinned wickedly. "It will hurt less if he pukes it back up later."

"Don't say things like that, Orion. Making him worry about vomiting isn't going to help his appetite any, and it might even make it worse," Abraxas snarled, poking at his potatoes a bit harder than was necessary.

"Fine, fine… It could be that Aquila cursed him when he walked in, though. Giving him symptoms of an illness when he isn't really plagued by a real one. She's been glaring _daggers_ at Harry since he walked in here."

"And how would you know that? You haven't even looked up from your food since it appeared in front of you. In fact, you don't have the right to play Healer and diagnose him since you haven't yet seen his complexion," Abraxas commented with a sniff.

Orion huffed indignantly and sent a swift glance Harry's way before returning to his plate.

"There. I looked at him."

"It couldn't be Aquila, just saying," Dmitry put in. "He's looked rather pale since he woke up. I think he was having a nightmare, probably, but he says he can't remember."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably as he felt his friends' eyes on him. "Look, it's nothing. I'm alright, see?" He quickly grabbed the closest food item–a cauldron cake–and took a huge bite out of it. The act seemed to placate most of their worries, and they went back to their own meals, but Abraxas still shot him anxious glances when he thought Harry wasn't paying too close attention.

The banter that passed between them was normal, casual, didn't call anything of any particular interest to attention. The conversations Harry tuned into around him were basically the same as well. A few were more animated, but they came from the more boisterous Ravenclaw table behind him. He propped his elbows up on the table and rested his chin on his fists, gazing up at the darkened ceiling and the hundreds of jack-o-lanterns floating above.

"_PROFESSOR DIPPET!"_

The piercing feminine shriek caused Harry–and many others– to involuntarily jerk his head around to stare at the girl who was running down the center aisle towards the staff table. She wore Hufflepuff robes and was in her fourth year, if Harry was remembering correctly. What startled him the most, though, other than her desperate call and the way she was running, most ungracefully, to the headmaster, was the stream of tears running down her face and the pure, utter terror that was clearly etched there. Any and all conversations ceased immediately, everyone's attention drawn to the 'Puff.

Professor Dippet, along with Dumbledore and a few other members of the staff stood.

"What is it, Miss Patterway?"

Breathless and choking on her sobs, the girl stopped in front of the steps up to the raised dais where the staff table was located. Her body shivered uncontrollably and collapsed. It was a good few moments before she was able to say anything coherent.

"Abby… Abby Wouters, Sir… I-I think… I think she's _dead._"

If the silence was stunned before, it was completely, irreversibly shocked now. Harry swore that if a pin had been dropped in the corner furthest away from where he was in the Hall that very moment, it would sound like a gigantic boom to him.

Why did his peaceful evening feel the need to be shattered so violently?

"Dead." The headmaster's eyes were wide and filled with the most astonishment of all. "That's impossible; where is she, how can you be sure?"

"She… she's not moving… b-but her eyes are open… and sh-she's on the floor… and…" Patterway let out another horrified sob. "Sh-sh-she's s-so _cold._" The girl buried her face in her hands and continued to cry hysterically, convulsing quite intensely, in Harry's opinion.

"Where is she?" Dippet asked again, in a much harder tone than before.

"F-fourth floor c-corridor. By-By the painting o-of the fairy tea-gathering."

Professor Dippet nodded, not that the girl could see, and looked up at the rest of the student body.

"Prefects are to escort their Houses back to the dormitories _immediately_. That goes for the Head Boy and Girl too. Teachers are to go to the staff room; Albus, you come with me, Colletta, well, Miss Patterway's in your House…" Dippet glared sternly out across the student body. "No one is to leave their common room until tomorrow morning. Of course, we will be sending your Head's of House's in to explain the situation to you once the situation is sorted." He paused and waited for people to move. "Well? What are you waiting for? Go!"

There was a mad scramble as everyone got up to leave the Hall as one great mass of black-robed students. Harry would have surely gotten separated from his friends if it weren't for Orion's strong grip on his shoulder, guiding him through the swarm. Soon enough, he and the rest of his House were back in their common room, though he had become separated from Orion's hand once he had reached the dungeons. With the excitement of what had just occurred, no one in his or her right mind was even _thinking_ about sleep. The first and second years crowded in the stairwells, with the third and fourth years creating their own little cliques around the walls. Most of the fifth and sixth years were also clustered about with a few sprawled out on various couches. The seventh years had taken control of the furniture surrounding the fireplace and relinquished their sacred spots to no one.

Or, at least, that was how it was supposed to be. That was how Slytherin politics were supposed to work when everyone was crowded into the common room like they were now. It was how it had worked any other time they were all confined to the common room.

But things weren't working as they should. The most blaringly obvious change was the single leather armchair; unarguably the most comfortable spot in the room. The chair always held a seventh year, always. Ever since Harry had first arrived in Slytherin. It didn't matter what year you were in, if a seventh year was there, you moved your arse away from the seat. It _belonged_ to the seventh years. The special spot they'd _earned_ after spending so many years at Hogwarts, giving up the same chair to people older than them. So when Tom strode in and over to the plush seat, followed closely by Dmitry, Abraxas and Orion, the last thing Harry had expected was for the seventh year who had already laid claim to the chair, to look once at Tom's approaching figure and practically leap out of it, handing it over without a fight. It was even more interesting to observe the other three position themselves around the chair; cold, scrutinizing masks perfectly in place.

Harry hadn't spent four whole years in Slytherin and _not_ learned how to detect when something so conspicuous was clearly just plain _wrong_. As a Gryffindor, he might have taken notice of the act for a moment, pondering it before shrugging it off and deeming it unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but not now. Not here. It could be potentially dangerous and harmful to ones health to be unable to recognize such a blatant power-shift. However, instead of going up to question his friends about it, he crossed his arms over his chest and allowed himself to slink backwards, into a shadowed corner of the room and simply _observe. _He was, after all, a Slytherin.

Though, he didn't particularly like what he saw.

The curious gazes sent Tom's way over the past few weeks were starting to make the tiniest bit of sense. The older years' eyes were all simply _fixated_ on the boy now, hard and unwavering; cataloging any and all information acquired in the tight-lipped minutes that passed between them. Not one of them talked like the younger students. No one had any theories of the "death" that had been so publically announced. He could, from where he stood, see Tom's eyes slowly and cautiously scanning the room. A tiny part of him said the boy was looking for him and he should make his presence known, but another part ordered him to stay put, just outside of Tom's peripheral vision. In the dark, where his _friend_ seemed to have kept him all year.

It was only a minute before Tom's searching ended, and another ten or twenty before the portal connecting their common room to the rest of the castle appeared and Slughorn stepped into the room. All hushed conversations ceased and everyone's undivided attention was focused on their Head of House.

The man looked tired and far older than Harry had ever seen him in either lifetime. He ran a pudgy hand through his thick hair and sighed audibly in what could only be described as defeat.

"Is there a problem, Professor?" Tom politely inquired from his newly acquired position of power. "Headmaster Dippet said something about you explaining the situation to us?"

"Yes, yes… the situation…" Slughorn mumbled. His eyes raked over the faces of the children of his House, not even bothering to hide their curiosity. "Well, I've been told not to give away too many details, but I don't know how they're going to keep it covered up. As soon as students are up and prowling about, you all will be sure to go visit the scene–not that I'd blame a single one of you. Such an event… It's never happened before! And it's not like the message will be gone anytime soon," he muttered, more to himself than any of the surrounding Slytherins. "It's written in blood, after all."

There were a few, collectively sharp, intakes of breath at the Professor's words, but no one spoke, the gravity of the situation seeming to begin to fully sink in.

"So?" Tom asked, breaking the thick silence. "Is she dead?"

"No, no. She's not… dead, per se–thank Merlin for that. She's been petrified, poor girl. By whom, or how, is currently unknown and is very vexing to both Professor's Dippet and Dumbledore… Very, _very_ Dark magic. I don't know why Dumbledore suggested it could be a _student_," Slughorn commented with a scoff. "The only clue left behind was a message, written in blood, yes, but not the girl's. What it said will bring nothing good for Slytherin this year," Slughorn noted with a slightly dramatic sigh.

"And what _did_ it say?" Tom asked, magnificently going along with the slightly overdramatized words.

Slughorn snorted sardonically. The action caused his bulging stomach to ripple and Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. He noticed Tom barely keep his lips from twitching into a sneer. Neither boy held a very high opinion for their Professor, who had a great habit of playing favorites and dropping names.

"I really shouldn't say, Tom, I really shouldn't. But whoever attacked the girl left a message that read, '_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemy of the Heir, beware.'_ And that's it. Word-for-word."

Harry would have snorted in amusement if not for the stiflingly serious atmosphere. It was almost exactly what Tom had forced Ginny write on the wall when the diary was possessing her.

"And you think that because the Chamber holds a monster able to be controlled only by one of Slytherin's heirs that the majority of the blame and suspicion will fall on us, resulting in a far from comfortable year?"

Harry rolled his eyes, not that anyone could see him. Tom knew exactly how to play Slughorn's game and was making excellent use of his acting skills.

"Well, yes, that's just it, Tom." Slughorn let out an exhausted sigh and closed his eyes in exasperation. "For all you new students who have yet to experience it or are too… _unobservant_ to truly understand, the other Houses don't think fondly of Slytherins. And now that this, this _heir_ has come out and has attacked an innocent muggle-born student… Well, let's just say things will most likely become much harder for _all_ Slytherins."

His eyes snapped open and he stood up straighter, attempting to look more authoritative and intimidating. "Therefore, I must ask you all to please _try_ not to start anything unnecessary with the other Houses–Gryffindors especially–and keep out of trouble as much as you lot can. Stick close to each other and don't let the comments thrown about carelessly by other students get to you. They don't understand, and they never will because they don't try." He paused and let his gaze travel over each student's solemn face. "Now, the feast was interrupted, wasn't it? Yes, the house elves will be bringing some food here soon, but don't stay up too late. Classes begin again tomorrow like normal. Have as lovely a night as you can."

Slughorn turned on his heel and lumbered out of the common room. The second the wall closed behind him, excited whispers broke out in waves.

"The Chamber of Secrets… do you think it's true?"

"Slytherin's heir! I never would have thought…"

"Maybe now they'll think twice about letting all those mudbloods into the school…"

"I'd heard a rumor from one of the upper years about something _big_ happening this year… Could this be it?"

Harry's already narrowed eyes completely closed and he strained his ears to try and block out everyone but the other fifth years standing near him.

"–talking about? Who'd you hear _that_ form?"

"Well, I didn't hear it _from_ anyone, exactly. Or, well, they weren't talking to _me_. It was a conversation I overheard between the seventh year prefect–"

"Pucey?"

"Yes, him and Malfoy."

Harry sucked in his cheeks and bit down on them, hard. He cracked open his eyes and glared ferociously at the stone floor. He couldn't believe it. He didn't _want_ to believe it, but the proof was there, frolicking stark naked in front of him. Abraxas had known, and he hadn't. _Pucey_ had develped an inkling, yet he, Harry, was left out. Undoubtedly, a large number of upper-year Slytherins seemed to have had suspicions, but he'd been obliviously living through his days.

It hurt. A lot.

"Malfoy… _Abraxas_ Malfoy?"

"Of course it's Abraxas, do you know of any other Malfoy at this school?"

"Do you think _he's _the heir?"

"I_ would_, if my mother hadn't forced me to learn pureblood genealogy. The Malfoy's were one of the families she had me practically _memorize_ in hopes that it would help me one day marry into the family. They aren't related to Slytherin _at all._"

"Who _is_? I heard that the line's been extinct for at least a century."

"No, they married out of Britain. Into a Greek family, I believe."

"No, it was Russian. I'd bet a hundred galleons they married into a Russian family."

"_Anyway,_ I heard them talking. I couldn't completely understand everything, they were speaking rather quietly, but I think the gist of it was that something big was going to happen this year that had to do with Slytherin and the rest of the school."

"So Malfoy already knew? Or was it Pucey?"

"Malfoy was telling Pucey about it, I think. Pucey definitely had more questions and Malfoy had more answers…"

The group was silent for a moment. Harry attempted to relax his muscles, which he hadn't realized were tense until now.

"Do you think it's Riddle?" He froze.

"That _would_ explain why he's sitting in The Chair…"

"But Riddle is so… It's not a Pureblood name…"

"But just _look_ at him. He's _surrounded_ by sixth and seventh years, and _none_ of them are trying to have him move."

"So? I mean, sure, he's not a seventh year, but maybe they're letting him sit there as an exception to the rule because he's so powerful. You can't deny he's beyond superb with magic, even if his surname's muggle…"

"Seventh years have _never_ made an exception before."

"That we know of, you can't say for sure it's never happened in the past…"

"They're all talking with each other too."

"That's because they're sitting near each other. What, you expect them to try shouting across the room to talk with us?"

"It's obvious they've got a privacy ward up, though, since no one can hear what they're saying…"

"But look at the dynamics of the group. Every single one of them can't keep their _eyes_ off Riddle. Even if he doesn't turn out to be the actual _heir,_ he _knows_ something."

"And who says it's even the heir anyway? Maybe it's a student who's really good at Dark Arts and thought it would be funny to try and scare the school."

"While putting the blame on the Slytherins, effectively keeping everyone's eyes off the real culprit."

"It's a good plan…"

"We should ask Dmitry if Riddle knows anything tomorrow."

"Or Harry. He already knew Riddle before Hogwarts. You saw how chummy they were after he was sorted. Didn't even sit with us, went right over to where Riddle had saved him a spot."

"Yeah, we should ask Evans. If anyone would know what's up, it's him."

_Except I don't know,_ Harry thought bitterly. _Or rather, I know, but not because Tom told me. _

Furious with Tom for keeping secrets, his so-called friends for going along with it, and himself for not trying harder to investigate Tom's glaringly obvious strange behavior further, he violently pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning against while listening to the conversation. He stalked straight through the room, his face not giving away the fact that he knew anything or that he was enraged with anyone. Slytherins, having a sixth sense that allowed them knowledge on sensing danger and how best to preserve themselves, moved out of his way without question. He glided down the stairs, past the first years that pressed themselves against the walls to get away from him, and into his dormitory. Only when the door was shut behind him did he let his face twist with wrath. He strode over to his bed and threw himself onto it.

"_What's wrong, Harry?"_

Anger was replaced with brief surprise as Nagini slithered up onto his mattress. He hadn't seen her in a few weeks since she usually stayed with Tom in his room or explored the Hogwarts grounds and castle.

"_Nagini…"_ He looked at her and pressed his lips into a thin line. _"Did you know?"_

"_I know many things, Harry. You must be specific."_

"_The Chamber of Secrets… Did you know?"_ Nagini stared at him, unblinkingly, without an expression on her face. _"Nagini?"_

"_I am sorry."_

Harry closed his eyes, reigning in his temper. Even _Nagini_ had been keeping it from him…

"_So you knew?"_ She hissed out a positive.. _"And you were aware that I did not?"_ She hissed again and Harry sighed.

"_I truly am sorry, Harry,"_ Nagini hissed softly, moving her body so that she was completely on the bed and in front of his face. He cracked open an eye and met hers. He could see the honesty that resided there. _"If I could have told you, I would have, but he bound me to my word. He made me promise I would let nothing slip to you. I still am unable to tell you the specifics unless you ask me directly. But I thought…" _She hesitated. _"I thought he would have told you before now. You two are such good friends–"_

"_Yeah, we're such good friends that he would allow me to wander the halls, unaware, whilst he lets his pet basilisk out to play," _Harry spat venomously. Nagini eyed him sharply.

"_You know of the Serpent King?"_

"_Yes,"_ Harry said stiffly. _"But don't tell Tom I know. I don't want to have to answer his questions."_

"_So it seems Tom wasn't the only one keeping secrets,"_ Nagini pointed out slyly. Harry scowled at her and she let out a tiny chuckle. "_Don't worry. I will not tell. It's the least I can do, though I do not think either of you should be keeping these types of secrets from each other."_

"_Well, when he finally grows the balls to tell me about his plans with the Chamber, then I'll let him know that I've figured out the creature is a basilisk," _Harry said snarkily. _"If Tom can have his secrets, then I can have mine."_

"_I'm sure he had a good reason as to why you weren't informed… maybe…"_

"_It doesn't excuse the fact that he put more trust in people with whom the only relationship he holds is one of distant acquaintance than he did with _me," he stated, thinking of the seventh-year prefect.

"_I know,"_ Nagini hissed soothingly, maneuvering over Harry's shoulder blades and back around to face him in an attempt at giving him a comforting hug. _"I do not try and say that what he did was right, and I would have told you the moment I knew, if I could."_

Harry rubbed his forehead. Being angry took a lot out of him. It made him easily tired and worn out. It left him feeling ancient and older than his body outwardly showed.

"_I know you would have, Nagini."_

"_Are you terribly angry with me?"_

"_I… I could never stay mad at you, love. It's more like a fleeting annoyance that, yes, was directed towards you, but has now shifted onto Tom."_

"_You shouldn't stay mad with him either. He should have told you, but–"_

"_Don't."_ Harry snapped. He didn't need, nor did he want, anyone defending Tom's actions. His friend was to be held entirely responsible for his decision not to include Harry, and nothing would change that. "_Just don't."_

Nagini let out a soft hissing sigh. _"For now, I will concede. But Tom cares about you, Harry. More deeply than he does about anyone else. I know because I have seen it. I see how he treats you compared to how he treats others. I see, I know–" _She struggled with herself, trying to find the words. _"Just promise me you'll forgive him for this. Please? For me? He must have thought that what he was doing at the time was best for you…"_

"_I don't think so, Nagini. I really don't."_

"_Harry–"_

"_But I'll think about it," _he swiftly amended._ "If only because you asked me to, but I don't promise it will be better by tomorrow morning. I won't swear to you that the sun will be high in the sky, shining down on us as we laughingly skip through a field of daisies by the end of the week, either. I want to forgive him, I do. He's my best friend and we've been through so much together. I just don't know if I can."_

Betrayal was a deep and stinging wound.

"_I understand, Harry. But now you are tired. Now you are overflowing with a cornucopia of different emotions, each one raging a different battle within you. Sleep on it, and maybe you will feel better in the morning."_

Harry snorted. _"I doubt it, but I'll try. Goodnight."_

"_Goodnight."_ Harry wandlessly shut the hangings around his bed and spelled them to stay closed. He didn't want to be pestered by anyone that night or the morning to come.

He was awake after Nagini began to slumber. He heard his roommates enter the room and begin preparing for bed, still talking about the Chamber. He had yet to fall asleep, even when he could hear the soft breathing and snores of the other Slytherin fifth years. He knew when Dmitry finally came in, nearly an hour after the rest. He listened while the other boy clambered into bed. He allowed his eyes to shut and he tried to reach the realm of dreams, but that night, it never came.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Harry's eyes were mildly sore the next morning from having been awake all night. He slipped out of bed after he was sure his dorm mates were gone, and went through his morning routine. Nagini was nowhere to be seen, but that was because she had left in the early hours of the morning. To where, Harry didn't know for sure, but it wasn't too important. She did like exploring the castle, even if she already knew the entire layout down to the last mouse hole.

While attempting to sleep, he'd allowed his thoughts to linger on Tom and the Chamber of Secrets. Nagini would have scolded him and said that was the reason why he'd not gotten any sleep, but he needed to think about what to do. His anger towards his friend had not subsided. It wasn't because Tom had opened the Chamber, he'd realized after pondering over the emotion long and hard, but more due to the fact that he'd been left out. Harry hadn't been able to hold in his snort at the irony of the situation. He wanted to be _involved _with the opening of the Chamber. He wanted to _know_ about what Tom was up to from the other boy's mouth directly, but he had no inclination to stop his friend's actions at all, no matter what his dream in the library had tried to prove otherwise.

He was sure that if his friends from the future knew how he felt, they'd hate him for sure. They wouldn't be able to understand why he didn't want to stop the muggle-borns from being harmed. Hell, _he_ wasn't even one hundred percent sure why he didn't want to stop Tom. It wasn't that he thought muggle-borns to be the scum of the earth like the other Slytherin students…

The best excuse he had come up with was that he didn't want to stop Tom because he'd meddled enough with history and losing Myrtle wouldn't be _that_ big of a loss on wizarding society as a whole. But even that justification had too big a hole in it. Since he'd _arrived_ at Wool's he'd been on a direct course to upset one of the biggest events in wizarding history: the rise and reign of Lord Voldemort.

In the end, Harry had ended his attempts to understand his own reasoning simply because it gave him too much of a headache. Instead, he let his thoughts wander back to Nagini, after she'd moved from his bed, and how he'd fulfill his promise to forgive Tom. He had come to terms with the inevitable opening of the Chamber and had even eventually reproached himself for being caught off-guard with the sudden appearance of the basilisk simply because she hadn't shown up last year, Tom's fifth year, when, in Harry's timeline, the Chamber had first been opened. But, because he'd led Nagini to believe that he'd eventually forgive his friend, Harry had decided that the best course of action was to simply avoid. If he avoided Tom, he'd (probably) be able to get over the betrayal. It had worked for him in the past; it should work for him now.

_After all, the best way to keep a wound from growing is to stay away from the weapon that created it in the first place._

With that thought running through his head over and over again like a mantra, Harry made the moderately short trek from the Slytherin dungeons to the kitchen. He wasn't starving, but he didn't want to lose his already-small appetite by going to the Great Hall and having to look at Tom's face.

The few Hufflepuff students he passed gave him odd looks but made no attempt to stop him on his journey. They, like the rest of the school, had undoubtedly heard about the Chamber of Secrets and the message about Slytherin's heir, and were probably too scared of Harry at the moment to try and force a conversation out of him. He hoped it would be like that with the rest of the school's population as well, but knew he'd probably get at least a bit of grief from the rowdy Gryffindors.

The kitchen was exactly as Harry remembered it in the future, minus a hyperactive Dobby and a drunken Winky. House elves bustled busily about, placing platters of food on the long tables mimicking the ones in the Great Hall and taking nearly empty plates away. When spotted, Harry was ushered over to a small table in the corner, out of the way, and had a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast shoved in front of him with a glass of pumpkin juice. He mumbled his thanks and the elves that'd brought him the food bowed happily before rushing off to do their jobs.

He picked at his food and ate slowly, trying to take up as much time as he could before he had to go to class and see Dmitry. He wasn't looking forward to seeing his Russian friend. After he had made his decision to ignore Tom, he'd decided it would probably be best to ignore the others as well, until his temper had subsided. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he exploded and threw poisonous words around like rice at a wedding.

When his prolonged meal was finished, he once again thanked the over-exhilarated elves for their hospitality. He left the kitchen and climbed the many staircases to the History of Magic classroom. When he arrived, there were already a few students there, idly chatting with each other. One boy, a Ravenclaw, had already stacked his books up on the desk and was continuing his sleep, interrupted by breakfast, from the previous night. The fifth year Ravenclaws shared the period with the Slytherins, and Harry couldn't help but be amused when he realized that not even the bookworms took Binns' class seriously.

He swiftly weaved his way through the desks and took a seat in the back corner of the room. With the lack of seats surrounding him, it was easier to hope that they would all be filled before Dmitry entered the room. Unfortunately for him, everyone in school knew he and Dmitry were friends, and no one was willing to risk bodily harm by trying to impede on their friendship by filling at the empty spaces around Harry.

As predicted, just before the bell rang to signal the beginning of class, Dmitry swaggered in with a silly, superior sort of smirk on his face. He immediately caught sight of Harry after a quick scan of the room, and wandered over. He slid into the open seat on Harry's right and took out his book, parchment and quill. He was one of the few who liked to give the ghost-teacher the impression that they were paying attention, not that it really mattered. Binns never looked up from his teachers text.

When the bell did ring, Professor Binns floated through the blackboard like he'd done every class Harry'd ever had with him, and flipped open the large tome resting on a pedestal at the front of the room.

"Today we'll resume our discussion on the Goblin Rebellions," he droned out in the monotone that had never failed to K.O. at least one student per class.

_Does he _ever_ teach anything else?_

Professor Binns continued his speech and Harry tuned him out. He'd decided long ago that, since he was given a second chance, he should try to be a better student in the past than he was in the future. So, every History of Magic lesson, he ignored Binns and read straight from the book. There was no reason for Binns to always focus so greatly on the Goblin Rebellions, Harry thought, when there was so much more history wizarding Britain had to offer; a substantial amount of it more interesting too.

Normally, when he was ignoring the world around him, he was left alone. But not today. No, he could never catch a break. Everything had to come at him like a fastball. Fate was never kind.

"Hey, Harry. _Harry_."

Said boy bit the inside of his cheek to keep from replying and tilted his head a fraction of a centimeter down and to the side, eyes sliding in their sockets to connect disinterestedly with Dmitry's curious gaze.

"Where were you at breakfast today?"

"Kitchens," Harry replied after a moment's hesitation. There was no way he could avoid this confrontation, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to _try _to be calm about it.

"What, why?" Dmitry asked, clearly confused. "You've never eaten there before… I men, we get snacks from time to time, but… Is everything okay?"

Harry didn't answer. What was he supposed to say? No, everything was not okay and he felt like shite for being left out of Tom's plans for school-wide domination through fear?

"Well," Dmitry continued, hesitating for a moment at Harry's silence. "You shouldn't be wandering around alone at least. You know… with… the Chamber of Secrets and everything…"

Harry's eye twitched subtly and he returned his harsh gaze to the open book in front of him.

"I don't think it's that big a problem," he mumbled, trying to keep his voice under control. "Probably just some student's idea of a joke."

"No!" Dmitry's exclamation was a bit too loud and he worriedly looked around at the other lazy students before deeming it safe to continue. "No, it's no joke. Some girl was petrified–there was a message in blood on the wall–"

"From Slytherin's heir, so Slytherins should be safe either way," Harry said, sneering. "Do you even know _who_ the so–called 'enemy of the heir' _is?"_ He didn't wait for a response before continuing. The question was mostly rhetorical anyway. "Muggle-borns. Salazar Slytherin _abhorred_ the idea of muggle-borns–the spawn of muggles–being allowed to learn magic with other half or purebloods. Muggles, who ostracized any they believed to be magical. Muggles, who, in the earliest of days, took pleasure in hunting magical creatures to near-extinction. Muggles, who lived among the filth and pigs of the land at the time of the Founders. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw were more forgiving of the magical children birthed from non-magical peoples, but not Slytherin. It was what eventually drove him out of Hogwarts altogether. So, obviously, the only ones who should be worried about the Chamber of Secrets, the monster within, or the person allowing it to attack students, should be muggle-borns and muggle-borns alone."

"But," Dmitry tentatively pointed out, "you're–um–no one really knows your blood-status, being from a muggle orphanage and all. So you _could_ be a muggle-born, and by your own logic, a target. Which is why you shouldn't be wandering around by yourself. Not saying that you are a muggle-born, you might not be," Dmitry hastily amended, color vaguely draining from his face.

Harry's hands became fists, knuckles white with barely contained anger at Dmitry's comments. He slowly turned back around to look at Dmitry, upper lip curling into a snarl.

"Then, let me put it like this," he said in a deathly quiet voice devoid of any emotion at all. "I can wander the halls all I like without fearing an attack from the heir because I highly doubt that my _friends_ would sick the beast on me."

He couldn't help the small flame of joy that lit up within him as he relished the complete look of shock and fear that molded itself on Dmitry's face.

"Although, maybe I _should_ be worried for my life," he continued, keeping his gaze on Dmitry's face whilst he closed his book and shoved it in his bag, "if my _friends_ can keep such a big _Secret_ _from me."_ The last part of his accusation was hissed out, nearly in Parseltongue, which seemed to frighten Dmitry even more. But Harry couldn't care less at the moment. He stood up and hauled his bag up onto his shoulder.

"Professor Binns, I'm feeling unwell and am going to the hospital wing."

Without waiting for a reply, Harry left a startled professor, an astonished class, and a dumbfounded friend behind. He did exactly what he said he would and made a beeline for the hospital wing. Once there, he quickly explained his no-sleep situation to the nurse and was allowed a bed to rest upon. He fell upon it and pulled the sheets up over his head, curling into a ball as well. The nurse, sensing the obvious distress rolling off him in waves, flicked her wand and the curtains around his mattress closed, giving him privacy. He would have to remember to thank her later.

Whilst in fetal position, Harry's erratic breathing began to slow and he thought about what he'd just done, what he'd just said. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. He couldn't believe he'd let his feelings get the better of him and made that admission to Dmitry. It was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. He hadn't wanted to shower anyone with the acidic rain of his rage. He hadn't wanted to let his friend know that _he_ knew of the Chamber, or anything about Tom's secrets. He'd let his temper get the best of him and for that he was ashamed. The blame could easily be placed on his lack of sleep the night before, but he wasn't about to let that excuse stick. Any unwanted attention hurled his way now would be his fault and his fault alone.

With those thoughts drifting around his mind, he allowed his heavy eyelids to flutter closed. It was less than a minute before he was completely asleep.

Hours later he was shaken awake by the nurse who, when he asked, informed him that she was the assistant to the Healer employed at Hogwarts. The Healer was currently away at St. Mungo's attempting to obtain any information from his colleagues about the state about how to un-petrify the girl two beds down from him. She also informed him that his teachers had been sent notes about his current residence in the hospital wing and excused him from the classes he missed.

"They sent you the homework due for next class and expect you to turn it in along with what was supposed to be due today."

"Thanks." Harry graciously accepted the assignments she was holding and stuffed them into his bag.

"It's nothing. I'm just doing my job. Now, get down to the great Hall for dinner. You seem to have recovered mostly from your lack of sleep; it wouldn't do for you to be back in an hour due to hunger."

Harry shrugged half-heartedly in acceptance and left. He made sure to sit as far away from his friends as possible at dinner to avoid any more unwanted confrontations. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Dmitry had already informed the others about his little outburst, and it was only a matter of time before they descended on him.

He smirked despondently at the half-eaten food on his plate. He hated confrontations.

Finishing the rest of his meal with graceful hurriedness, Harry left the Hall and moved back up the stairs to the library. Since he'd been absent from his classes that day, he had no notes from which to reference the multitude of essays he'd been assigned.

The library was also a wonderful place to hide, what with the towering bookshelves and hidden niches in which to read.

Eventually, Madame Pince kicked him out of her library because it was nearing curfew. He wandered the desolate halls at an agonizingly sedate pace, trying to reach the common room just before he was required to be there. He passed a few Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students on his way down as they traveled up, but he didn't run into any Slytherins. When he reached the second floor, he sped up and hurried past Myrtle's bathroom, eyes on the floor. He didn't really expect Tom to let the basilisk loose two nights in a row, but it didn't hurt to be careful.

"Purity," he spoke when he was in front of the expanse of wall that hid the Slytherin common room from anyone not in the House of Snakes. He sighed internally as the wall shimmered away, revealing the passage into the hidden room. The password had been in place for weeks now, but after what happened last night, he could appreciate the sardonicism of it.

Because the heir would purge the school of those impure, born from two muggles.

But, one could argue, the Slytherin passwords always had something to do with the Dark or blood status.

Because of the lateness of the hour, the common room was only half-full. Tom had taken a seat on one of the couches that faced the door, and could clearly see Harry when he entered the room. Their eyes met and Tom cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow to symbolize an order disguised as an invitation for Harry to join him and the others surrounding. But Harry wasn't about to give in. He stuck his jaw out defiantly and glared at the older boy before pointedly breaking eye contact and stalking away to his dorm. His roommates were all still downstairs–they had been a part of the group surrounding Tom–so he wasn't worried about one of them having the stupidity to approach him and question him about Tom's connection to the Chamber of Secrets.

As he changed into his pajamas, the door behind him opened and shut quietly. He half-turned and was _very_ mildly surprised to see Tom standing there, eyeing the other beds disinterestedly. Silence passed between them for a long while until Harry finally deemed it necessary to break the quiet.

"Do you want something?" he asked, leaning back against one of his bedposts and crossing his arms.

"Do I have to want something as motivation to speak to one of my friends?" Tom inquired, dark eyes finally landing on Harry's face. Nothing about Tom's posture gave away what he was feeling; he wore his emotionless mask well.

Harry snorted in disbelief before chuckling dryly at Tom's statement. "Yes, I think you must. Or, at least, you must really want something if you finally deem it necessary to speak with _me_."

Tom tilted his head to the side like a bird, eyes calculating. "I speak with you on a daily basis, Harry."

"No," Harry snarled, "you _lie_ to me on a daily basis,_ Tom._" He gave a humorless laugh. "And here I thought we were friends."

"We are–"

"You felt it necessary to hide things from me," Harry said loudly, overpowering Tom's sentence. "You haven't told me a thing about your _plans_, a thing about your inner _thoughts_ since this year began. And what's worse? You shared everything with Dmitry. With Orion, with _Abraxas._"

"Fine, you want to know?" Tom snapped, narrowing his eyes and smirking at Harry. He opened his arms to a forty-five degree angle away from his sides. "My inner thoughts? I'm Slytherin's heir. My plans? To help Slytherin reach his goal of ridding the school of mudbloods." Tom's gaze was mocking. "There, do you feel better now? Do you feel placated, included?"

Harry didn't understand what was going on with his friend. He didn't know why the other boy was acting the way he was, and Harry certainly didn't feel as though he deserved Tom's scathing attitude. He'd just wanted the other to be honest with him, like he used to. All he'd wanted was to be included, all he'd wanted was an apology and for Tom to come clean. It wasn't too much to ask for; the older boy had apologized for his actions in the past when they ended up hurting Harry. Where was the Tom he'd gotten to know? Where had his best friend gone?

All he wanted now was to be alone. All he wanted was to cry.

He felt the despair as it merged with the other emotions in his chest. It covered them, wrapping them in a cocoon of silken anguish. He slowly let his eyelids fall shut to keep himself from letting the tears fall. He would not cry, not in from of Tom. His heart pumped faster and he swallowed the great lump that had formed in his throat.

"I thought we were friends," he repeated softly, voice barely above a whisper. "You were my best friend, Tom. True, our first meeting wasn't the best, but together we got through all the bad things the orphanage threw at us. Together, we got through the hurtful things said, we got through the other orphans hate, we got through the punishments given by Mrs. Cole… And then Hogwarts. We both ended up being magical, Slytherins, Parseltongues… And now you've ruined it. You lied to me, you kept important secrets from _me_ whilst sharing them with others. Tell me, Tom. Has Abraxas ever nursed a physical wound given to you by a classmate? Has Orion ever listened to you when you were sad, comforted you when you were depressed? Has Dmitry ever snuck you food when you were denied meals? Have any of them cared about you in any way, _ever_, like I have?"

"Harry–"

Viridian eyes snapped open, outrage visibly there and covered by a glossy sheen of unshed tears.

"I don't want to hear it, Tom. You made your choice. You didn't want me in your life, now get out of mine."

Harry turned and climbed into bed, swiftly closing the hangings before Tom could say anything. He pulled the duvet over his head and pulled his knees up under him. Hot tears that had been threatening to escape finally rolled down his cheeks. His body shook only slightly and he tried hard to keep any noise from leaving his lips other than his muffled, haggard breaths. Tom had looked so shocked, so taken aback by his words. It was obvious to him that the older boy had had no inkling of how affected Harry was by his actions. His eyes had held a sort of desperation and fear, the likes of which Harry had never seen before. He felt his chest tighten in guilt that he was the source of his friend's unhappiness, but it didn't last. Harry was an emotional wreck because of the other boy, and this would be Tom's punishment.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Harry's eyebrow twitched as a group of Gryffindor girls two tables over collapsed into another, particularly loud, round of giggles. He now understood how Hermione must have felt during fourth year when Krum's fangirls invaded the library. Only, the girls currently annoying Harry weren't there for anyone in particular. They were just _there_, led to the library by a higher power hoping to seek some sort enjoyment in Harry's dwindling patience.

_And where's Madame Pince anyway? I distinctly remember a few weeks ago when she threatened to kick me out of the library for _sniffling _too loudly. It's prejudice against the Slytherins I tell you. Prejudice!_

Once of the girls gave a screeching cackle at exactly that moment, causing Harry–who really should have been expecting it but wasn't–to puncture his parchment with the sharp tip of his quill and leaving a stain on the wooden table. Growling in frustration and shooting the girls a look that could kill, he packed up his things and moved to a work station further back in the depths of the library. One of the few hidden in the darker corners of the room, obscured by the towering shelves unless you were looking at it from _just_ the right angle.

_Oh how I wish I had the eyes of a basilisk…or the power of a glare Snape so often wielded._

Harry sighed as he plopped down into his new seat, rubbing his face dejectedly with his hand. It had been two weeks since his fight with Tom, two weeks since the Chamber had been opened, and Tom had yet to come up to him and attempt to restore their presently broken friendship. Though, there hadn't been any attacks either, but Harry couldn't be sure if that was Tom being moody and depressed about their fractured relationship or completely normal. He would have thought Tom would try to exterminate all the muggle-borns from the school as soon as possible, but it could have just been the older boy being cautious. It wouldn't do for him to become overzealous, make a mistake, and get caught.

Harry had come to terms with his anger towards Tom for keeping him so deeply shrouded in the dark the other day, but hadn't gone back to his friends yet because he was embarrassed. Rage and anger, stirred to a boiling point by jealousy, had eventually simmered down and all that was left in its place was a burnt up pile of flustered shame. He was, quite frankly, slightly appalled by his behavior. His body might resemble a fifteen-year-old, but his mind was that of someone in his late twenties. It really wasn't acceptable for him to be throwing temper tantrums solely because he wasn't included in something. It was embarrassing.

He regretted ignoring Dmitry, Abraxas and Orion for something that really wasn't entirely their fault. After all, the possibility that Tom had made them swear an Unbreakable Vow or a Wizards Oath to keep them from letting anyone know the specifics of the Chamber situation was very high. And he really couldn't blame his friends for being curious and going along with it. They hadn't known–he hoped–that Harry wouldn't be let on to the secret. Dmitry had even attempted an apology the day after Harry and Tom's fight, but he'd ignored it. It wasn't from the person he truly wanted the expression of regret to come from, so he'd callously brushed it off and kept his icy shoulder directed at his fellow classmate.

Harry ran a hand through his messy locks, frowning down at his parchment and pushing the rest of his unnecessary thoughts from his head. With all his new free time that used to be devoted to his friends, Harry was able to dissect his book on creating Latin spells at a fairly quick pace. It had taken him a while to remember the exact words of the spell that had brought him back in time, and in the end he'd needed to create a makeshift pensive so he could view the memory of the event from third person, copying down the words as his memory read them aloud. Once that was done and he'd gotten the correct words, he looked them up in the dictionary portion of the tome. So he could understand exactly what he'd said, of course. But he hadn't liked what he'd found. Not. At. All.

The spell, which he'd discovered in a text devoted to warding, was supposed to keep his home safe from unwanted persons, standing strong and impenetrable though time until the day he died. What it had instead done was transport his soul _through _time to a "safe place"–though why it had chosen 1932 London was a mystery he wasn't even going to _try_ and unravel.

Yep, when he got back to the future, he was _so _finding the author of that book and suing them for everything they were worth. Who knew how many countless other innocents had been trying to protect their home and family inside, only to instead get a trip through time.

And he _did_ have to return, not just to save future ignorants and avenge the fooled others. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to go back–his new life in the past was, in some ways, much more gratifying than his old one in the future–but it was impossible for him to stay. If he stayed, it would mean that, when he was born in 1980, there would be two Harry's in the same time, and the fabric of time in his reality would unravel and the universe would be destroyed.

Or so he'd read.

That was why no time-turners had been created that went back more than a day. That was why it was so amazing that he'd managed to travel back over fifty years.

And so, once he realized he had to return home, he began researching how to do it, and if there were any loopholes that would allow him to stay. After all, one shouldn't put their full and complete faith in everything they read.

The rest of his afternoon that day was spent doing homework and creating a formula for a return spell. But there wasn't a real hurry to do so. He had thirty-five years until his mother would give birth to him.

However, when he left the library to go to dinner that night, he heard of the newest attack. It was on a girl from Gryffindor. A muggle-born, one year below him. She'd been found on the third floor, ironically, down the hall and around the corner from the hospital wing. It was as he was walking down the staircase that the announcement was made by Professor Dippet, his magically magnified voice booming through the halls, for everyone to immediately return to their respective common rooms where dinner would take place. Harry only knew the details about the girl because he passed her on his way down to the Slytherin dungeons.

As he moved to the side at the bottom of the staircase on the third-floor landing to avoid being unceremoniously jostled by the uncaring student population making their way up the stairs, a swishing cloak seen from the corner of his eye caught his attention. No one should have been moving down that hall; there were no short cuts to help one get to their common room in that direction. Curiosity peeked, Harry stealthily moved towards the person, staying expertly hidden in the shadows.

It turned out that the "student" he was following wasn't a student at all, but was, in fact, a teacher. Professor Tilbet, who taught Arithmancy. The old man came to a stop in front of Professors Dumbledore, Dippet, Slughorn, and two other Gryffindor girls. Harry recognized them immediately as part of the group that had been appallingly loud in the library earlier. Their friend was lying petrified on the ground in the center of the group. He slipped behind a nearby pillar to observe the scene before him.

"I got here as quickly as my old bones would allow," Professor Tilbet said, announcing his arrival upon the group. "What happened exactly?"

"Thank you for taking care of my class–"

"Think nothing of it, Albus," Tilbet waved off. "It was no problem, and you really did need to come check on these girls claim... Unfortunate that it turned out to be truth."

"So you would have preferred us to be lying?" the girl with twin plaits in her hair questioned angrily.

"In a situation like this, my dear, I would have preferred the Minister of Magic himself to lying. Terrible thing these attacks. Makes me glad that I'm to be retiring after this year."

"Oh, come now, Geoffry," Slughorn said nervously. "You can't honestly expect these attacks to continue on into the next school year?"

"If they do, I don't know how we're going to keep the parents from worrying..."

"Forget next school year, if someone isn't caught by the time _this_ school year lets out, I don't see how we're going to be able to hide it from the parents, what with the students returning home for break," Dumbledore pointed out in a grave voice.

"And you think they'll be able to stay quiet during the Yule holidays?" Professor Slughorn raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Our students are not stupid, Horace. I'm sure they realize that if they were to breath a word about the attacks to their parents over Yule, they wouldn't be returning for the rest of the school year, at least." Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "But that is the future. At the moment, we should focus on the present. Now, girls, if you would please explain to the other Professors what you told me?"

The girls nodded and the one with short, curly blonde hair began.

"We were all in the library–Alyssa, Victoria, Aurora, Justine, and me–studying for the test in Divination that's tomorrow."

Harry snorted quietly. _Gossiping about boys and talking poorly about their classmates was what it sounded like to me._

"And then, about an hour ago," the girl with braids broke in, "Alyssa said she needed to use the restroom. Olivia offered to go with her, but she declined, saying that it didn't require two people to make use of the toilet."

"I didn't mean it like _that_ or anything though," the blonde defended. "Sometimes us girls like to have company when we go. To talk with. And I didn't know she actually needed to _go_, I thought maybe she wanted to fix her make-up."

"Anyway," the other girl continued, "Aurora and Justine thought she was going to meet someone. A boy."

"They wanted to follow her, but Victoria said we shouldn't. Said we could pry all we wanted later, but we should leave them be for now."

"I wouldn't want someone following _me_ on a private date," Victoria said with a shrug. "Anyway, we spent the rest of the hour there before deciding to head down to the Great Hall for dinner. Justine and Aurora went to the Tower to put their bags away, and Olivia and I started down the stairs."

"We got to the third floor and I heard a noise down this hall–"

"What sort of noise?" Dumbledore interrupted sharply.

"I don't know, just like something sliding across the floor–"

"I didn't hear it, but we both heard the thump." Olivia vigorously nodded her head in agreement with Victoria.

"So we decided to investigate. Someone might have been hurt."

"And we came around the corner and saw–"

"Alyssa," they finished together.

"And you know the rest," Olivia said with a shrug, biting her lower lip. "We were so shocked. Who would want to hurt Alyssa? She's so nice; to everyone. I don't understand it..."

"Yes, Miss Stormfelt was a very lovely girl," Professor Dippet placated. Harry rolled his eyes. He'd heard many a Slytherin complain about her catty remarks and appalling behavior towards their House in general late at night in the impenetrable fortress that was the Slytherin common room.

"Well," Victoria said, as if trying desperately to remember some sort of important detail she'd forgotten. "There was the Slytherin boy today, in the library. Do you remember him, 'Liv?"

Olivia scrunched up her face in a rather unattractive manner. "Which one?"

"The one that kept glaring at us until he left."

There was a pause, and then-

"Oh, you mean Harry Evans!"

Harry felt his blood freeze in his veins. It couldn't be happening, not again...

"What about Mr. Evans?" Dumbledore prodded inquisitively.

"You don't seriously expect Evans to have something to do with it, do you Albus?" Slughorn demanded, looking as I'd he smelt something foul. "He doesn't have a spot on his record, always polite to the ghosts and the staff, he does well in his classes–why, accusing him of attacking students and claiming the title of Slytherin's 'heir' is like accusing Tom Riddle!" Slughorn chuckled at the absurdity of declaring Tom to be a menace, and was joined half-heartedly by Professor Tilbet. Professor Dippet gave a small smile while Dumbledore frowned sourly.

"No one is exempt from suspicion, Horace."

"And I say innocent until proven guilty," Slughorn snapped back. "Now, I turn my back and pretend not to take notice of how you treat my Slytherins, Albus, but accusations without hard facts to back them up–I won't tolerate it! I said it before; I'll say it again. With what we know about the attacks so far, there's no way to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it's even a Slytherin committing the crimes!"

"It's a very Dark bit of magic, petrifying these students in the way the heir's been going about it–"

"And it could be anyone," Slughorn spat, red in the face. "Anything you have against Harry is circumstantial at best. He may have been _glaring_; it might just be these girls opinion when really he was just concentrating on his studies. He might not even have been looking at them, you don't know because you _weren't there."_

"We could retrieve the memory from a pensive–"

"Which is illegal to do from a minor, even with their consent, unless express permission has been given by their guardian and he or she is in the room when the extraction takes place," Slughorn sneered. "Tell me, Albus, do you really want to inform the parents about these attacks? Has your opinion changed that drastically from five minutes ago?"

"He left the library before us, if that helps any," Olivia piped up, hoping to aid her Head of House in any way possible. Harry could have strangled her.

"No, it doesn't, unless you want to begin accusing all those who left before you because I doubt it was only him." Slughorn pursed his lips. "And I don't want to hear that you girls have spread your incorrect assumptions throughout the school either," he added as an afterthought. "If I do, you can rest assured that you both will be in detention until the end of this term."

Having heard enough, and not wanting to be caught at the scene of the crime, Harry silently retreated back to the stairwell and hurried down to the dungeons. It wasn't fair that those girls were trying to blame him. It wasn't right of Dumbledore to jump to conclusions like he was, even if they were half-right. He hoped against hope that those girls took Slughorn's warning to heart.

Unfortunately, life hated him. By noon the next day, over half the school believed him to be Slytherin's heir... again. And this time, he hadn't even revealed that he could speak Parseltongue, or shown up in the wrong place at the wrong time with a petrified body or two.

And it was all the fault of those two girls. Those two, _stupid, annoying, gossipy Gryffindor girls. _If he were on speaking terms with Tom, he'd have the older boy send the basilisk after them immediately, cackling maliciously in the background as he watched their bodies be gobbled up rather than left to dirty a hospital bed.

By the end of the week, over two-thirds of the school believed him to be the heir because he was always alone, and he had no alibi for the second attack. Honestly, he was becoming quite fed up with the student population of Hogwarts. Even a few of the younger Slytherins were suspicious of him. A group of over-eager Gryffindor fourth year boys, hoping to achieve recognition by catching him in the act, had taken to stalking him around the castle. The only joy that came from his days now was taking sadistic pleasure in losing his group of self-proclaimed guards, or shooting stinging hexes at them while they weren't looking. He relished the fact that they had yet to prove he was their attacker.

He would occasionally see friends looking at him with a small amount of pity in their eyes, and more than once he'd stumbled across Dmitry defending him against the claims of the other students, though the other boy didn't know he knew. Every time he found Dmitry laying into another student or group of students, the guilt on his shoulders got a little bit heavier. That was why, by the time the second week was halfway over, he'd decided to make up with his Russian friend.

_Plus,_ Harry thought in anticipation behind the curtains of his bed as he waited for the rest of his dorm mates to shut their own, _he was just following the orders of an older, more powerful Slytherin. And that's just how Slytherin politics work._ Not that he liked or approved of it. He wouldn't lie; the complicated workings of Slytherin House often made him crave the simplicity of Gryffindor.

Once he was absolutely certain that all the hangings of the other Slytherins beds were closed, he quietly opened his and stealthily crept out. Dmitry's bed was just next to his, so he didn't have to travel very far. He took out his wand.

"_Muffliato."_ There was no need for the other boys to know anything about the conversation soon to take place. Harry placed his wand back on his bed and closed his hangings to give the illusion that he was still inside before moving to pass through Dmitry's charmed ones. Harry carefully crawled through and onto Dmitry's bed.

As soon as he felt the dip in pressure, Dmitry's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright. Anything he was about to say was silenced as his eyes took in the figure now seated atop his covers.

"Harry?" he tentatively asked. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but what are you doing in my bed?"

The corner of Harry's mouth quirked up in amusement. "I want to talk."

"_Now?"_ Dmitry half-whined. "You've been avoiding me for the past near-month, and you want to talk _now?"_

"Well, I could leave–"

"No, no," Dmitry quickly shook his head. "We can talk, I guess…" He blinked somewhat sleepily at Harry. "Does this mean your not cross with me anymore?"

Harry's eyes softened at the hope he saw on Dmitry's face. "No, I'm not mad at you. Honestly, it was Tom who I was _really_ pissed at. My anger just sort of… rolled over onto you, Orion, and Abraxas I suppose. Then, couple that with the jealousy I felt because Tom trusted you all more than he trusted me, and we get the gigantic mess that has been the past few weeks."

"I'm sorry." And he looked it. Dmitry's eyes were sad as he gazed at Harry. "I didn't mean to keep things from you. I didn't mean for you not to know. Actually, I'm not sure even if I would have been let in on the secret if I hadn't stumbled upon Tom leaving the, ah, the Chamber."

Harry snorted in lightheartedness. Dmitry's eyes brightened at the noise and he grinned happily at the boy in front of him. "Yes, I imagine it would have been rather hard for even Tom to explain why he was leaving a girls bathroom. Though, he could have just Obliviated you…"

"I'm rather glad he didn't."

"I'm sure you are," Harry said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"Well, you seem to know more about the Chamber than you ever let on," Dmitry noted. "Did Tom tell you about it, that the entrance is in a bathroom? The day you two had your row?"

"No, he didn't. I just… found it. Because I'm a Parselmouth, and Slytherin was a Parselmouth–when I discovered that, I read up as much as I could about him. I read about the Chamber of Secrets a long time ago and took it upon myself to find it and prove that it wasn't just a myth. Call it a self-proclaimed quest if you want, but I eventually found it at the end of last year. I never told Tom though 'cause we were busy with other things. And he never told me he knew of it either."

Harry felt bad about lying to Dmitry after he hadn't been on speaking terms with the other because of practically the same thing, but it wasn't like he could easily explain away his knowledge with claims of being from the future. Using the excuse of being interested in Salazar Slytherin was less challenging. And Dmitry knew he'd been a Parseltongue since first year.

Dmitry hummed softly. "Makes sense, I suppose." A pleasant silence passed between the two.

"How did he do it, anyway?"

"Who? What?"

"How did Tom get the… _attack_ to happen when he was at dinner with the rest of us? Or did he not share that information with you."

"It was a timed illusion charm," Dmitry explained, gazing past Harry at his emerald, velvet curtains. "He'd already written the words, and the girl had already been petrified. The spell was timed to break whilst everyone was eating. He'd done it all earlier–you remember when you came to the library and he wasn't there?"

"Yeah…"

"That was when he carried out his plan."

"But wouldn't people still trip over the girl, even if they couldn't see her?" Harry pointed out skeptically.

"Nope. There was also a mild compulsion charm in place to keep students from walking over her petrified form. Anytime someone got close, they felt _compelled_ to take a path around the empty space, rather than through it."

"That's a lot of trouble to go to simply to throw suspicion off oneself," Harry commented lightly. Come to think of it, he'd never given much thought to how Ginny had been able to get away with her attacks on the student body…

"Yeah…"

Neither Harry nor Dmitry spoke for another minute, neither quite sure of exactly what to say. Their silence was eventually punctured with a large yawn from Harry.

"Well, I think I'll go to sleep now. I'm tired, but I wanted to clear the air between us first."

"So… You'll talk to me again? In public?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'll allow myself to be seen with you. But not when you're around _them_. Not yet. I may be over it for the most part, but I don't think I could welcome you all back at once. It would put too much of a strain on me, if you know what I mean…"

"I understand. But Tom will throw a fit when he sees you talking to me and not him," Dmitry said pointedly. "Still, I'm very… glad, that you chose to speak with me first. It makes me feel…" He looked to be struggling for the right words before sighing. "Never mind. You understand, right?"

"I think I do, yeah," Harry said with an easy grin.

"Good." Dmitry 's smile dropped and he bit his lip, looking down at his lap with pink-tinged cheeks. "Then, would you…stay here…tonight?"

Harry blinked rapidly, not quite sure he heard correctly.

"What?"

"Would you sleep here, in my bed, tonight. I do it with my cousins all the time, because we're friends. I just…" Dmitry mumbled something in Russian and Harry tilted his head to the side in clear confusion. "It's like… conformation for me, for tomorrow morning, that everything's okay between us again. That this conversation was real. Besides," he commented offhandedly, "you used to sleep here sometimes during first and second year."

Harry's cheeks burned at the memory. "That was because I was having nightmares–and we were a lot smaller then!"

Dmitry looked up at Harry through his eyelashes. "Please?"

Harry sighed at the puppy-dog eyes sent his way. No matter which time-line he was in, he would always be weak to any variation of those eyes. "Move over."

He blamed his cave-in on the eyes and the miniscule amount of guilt he still felt for his actions towards the other.

Smiling brilliantly, Dmitry scooted over. Harry slid under the covers and lay on his side with his back to Dmitry. "Kick me while you sleep and be prepared to land on that lovely and _chilly_ stone floor. Hard." He felt and heard Dmitry chuckle beside him.

"Of course."

Nothing was said after that, and Harry listened with his eyes closed as Dmitry's breathing slowly evened out. He wasn't sure when exactly it was he fell asleep, but when he did, it was with the pleasant warmth of a companion, a friend, beside him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **Geh! So, so, so, so sorry for how long it took to update! I honestly thought this chapter was going to be up a month ago since I was easily able to see it in my head. Then I started writing it and ended up rewriting it three or four times because I didn't like it, and then I got hit with some massive writer's block coupled with school and tests and yeah... Sorry for how long it took, hope you like it! :)

* * *

><p><em>All universal moral principles are idle fancies<em>. –Marquis de Sade

Harry slowly drifted back to consciousness, feeling well rested and ready for the day. He snuggled closer to the large, pleasantly warm object in his bed and sighed in contentment.

_Wait, what?_

As if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head, Harry was suddenly wide-awake. There shouldn't be anything big or heated in his bed other than him. His eyes snapped open and he sat up. Well, he sat up as much has one could with a pair of arms wrapped around their waist, holding them down.

"Ng, go back to sleep," Dmitry mumbled, burying his face into the pillows of _his_ bed.

Right, Harry thought to himself as memories from last night slowly came back to him. This wasn't _his_ bed; he'd been cajoled into sleeping with Dmitry last night…

When the initial adrenaline from his morning surprise started to wear off, tiredness took its place and he flopped back down onto the soft mattress with a huff. Dmitry made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat and pulled Harry's body closer. Sighing slightly, Harry allowed his Russian friend to use him as a hug pillow. After all, it wasn't as if this was the first time he'd been in this position. Tom had, on multiple occasions when they had climbed into bed with each other at the orphanage over the years, used Harry in the exact same way. Granted, when he'd become cognizant, the older boy had almost immediately untangled himself from Harry's person. Harry couldn't help but find mild amusement in the fact that the future Daark Lord was a bit of a cuddler.

Letting his eyes fall shut, Harry mentally decided to get himself and Dmitry up for real in approximately ten minutes. They still had class that day, and lounging around in bed instead would not be acceptable. Not that he really _wanted_ to stay in bed all day. Not even on weekends. It made him feel a bit like a useless, lazy lump. On the other hand, when he used to be a Gryffindor, sleep was a much-valued thing and he, along with Ron, would often wait until the last minute before scrambling out of bed, throwing on whatever he could find that smelled decent, and hurrying down to breakfast with barely enough time to eat before class.

He could thank his new, timelier habits on Tom's near-anal need to always be on time or early.

The minutes finished counting down as Harry listened to the movement of the rest of their dorm-mates outside the curtains. When the proverbial clock reached zero, he placed a hand on Dmitry's shoulder and gently attempted to bring the blonde back to the land of the living.

"Dmitry. Dmitry, wake up," Harry said softly. Dmitry groaned in protest and shook his head.

"I dun wanna," he slurred sleepily.

"Doesn't matter. You can't skip class just to _sleep_," Harry pointed out.

"Can too. I'll catch up without a problem, even if I _actually_ miss anything important," Dmitry argued, trying to prolong the time he could stay in bed. "And I have you back now to tutor me if I don't understand. You're a much better teacher anyway. Your explanations are easier to understand too."

_Because I already learned the material years ago_, Harry thought with a scowl. He sat up again but scooted up so his back rested against the headboard. It was less challenging to move with Dmitry no longer having him in a vice-hold.

"I'm not going to tutor you if you skiv off class for no reason other than pure laziness."

"But _Harry_," Dmitry half-groaned, half-whined. "Don't you like me more than that?"

"No, not particularly," he replied, perfectly stoic.

Dmitry finally opened his eyes and grinned saucily up at him. "You wound me, good sir."

"Nothing that getting up and out of bed won't fix, I'm sure."

"Thou hast made a grave offence to my–"

"Alright, Dmitry, time to get your lazy arse–" the hangings around them were thrown open, "–out of… bed…"

A tall, burly boy who occupied the bed directly across from Dmitry stared down at the two petrified boys in shock. Harry couldn't exactly blame him for his gob-smacked expression. While Dmitry and he had slept together once or twice during first and second year, they had never been caught in bed together. Add to that the fact that he wasn't known to be a particularly touchy-feely person yet Dmitry's arms were wrapped around his waist, and they had a perfect mixture for a misunderstanding.

Plus, he wasn't wearing a shirt. _Why_ had he refrained from dressing his upper body last night? Oh yeah, because he hadn't planned on being guilted somewhere other than _his _bed.

"Uh, sorry!" their roommate exclaimed quickly, and before Harry could stop and correct his assumption, the other boy had already roughly shut the hangings.

Harry watched, a slight twitch to his eye, as the curtains fluttered in the man-made breeze. When he heard the door to their room slam shut, he was snapped out of his daze, and he smacked Dmitry's shoulder, taking satisfactory pleasure in the mewl of pain generated by the other boy.

"Ow!"

"I hate you," Harry stated calmly. "I just want you to know that."

"And what did I do, _exactly_?" Dmitry rubbed his sore shoulder with a scowl of annoyance and watched Harry climb out of bed.

"If you had let me sleep where I wanted to last night, we would have never been found together this morning." Harry made his way over to his trunk to grab what he'd need for a shower. "So really, this is all your fault."

"It's not like I held my wand to your throat and threatened to curse you if you didn't comply," Dmitry asserted, mimicking Harry's actions and following him to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

"You might as well have. I mean, it's not like I could really resist your request after we had _just _begun speaking again." He stepped into a stall and pulled the emerald shower curtain closed, shielding his body from the rest of the room. Really, the one thing he didn't understand about Hogwarts was why they had to color-code _everything._ What if one day he wanted a purple quilt cover for his bed and a plastic duck patterned shower curtain? It was terribly boring seeing the same thing every day…

Quickly shedding himself of his sleepwear and tossing the garments into a water-repellent bin with his towel, Harry turned the shower knob and relaxed under the warm spray that cascaded down his body. He heard Dmitry turn his own shower on, but paid it no mind, choosing instead to stay lost in his own fantasy world whilst he scrubbed himself clean.

He finished speedily and stepped out, dripping wet with a fluffy towel around his waist. The conversation he'd been engaged in with Dmitry hadn't been pursued in the shower, and for that he was grateful. He abhorred being disturbed in the shower since it was his "me time." The only time he felt as though he could really get away from all the craziness that seemed to continually surround him and just cool off, even though it was when he was technically most vulnerable, being naked and all.

By the time Dmitry had reemerged from the bathroom, Harry was already dressed and tying his shoes.

"That's a silly excuse, you know. And it's not like I'm a seer," he complained, quickly picking up where they left off. "I mean, it _is_ a common trait in my family, and in many of the old families in Russia, but it's normally found in _females–_the gender that I am not."

"Oh, I know you're not a female," Harry said nonchalantly, flicking amused eyes at Dmitry. "The proof of that was poking me in the leg all morning."

It took a moment for his words to sink in, and when they did, Dmitry's face turned a brighter shade of scarlet than the Gryffindor quidditch robes. Harry watched his friend flounder for words for only a moment before bursting out into loud peals of laughter.

"That–it wasn't because of _you_," Dmitry stuttered in quick denial and embarrassment. Harry, still giggling, just waved his hand in a half circle that said _of course, of course, whatever you say._

"I mean it!" Dmitry continued, angrily pulling on his trousers. "I wasn't–I didn't get like that because I was dreaming about _you_!"

"Oh?" Harry teased, mirth in his voice and an evil gleam in his eye. "Pray tell, who then was the seductress you conjured in your mind? Who was the sexual beauty that managed to get you so aroused, even if she _was_ just a figment of your imagination?" Dmitry grumbled something under his breath and Harry cupped a hand to his ear. "Sorry, didn't catch that. One more time?"

"Never you mind," Dmitry bit out, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder. "Just know that it wasn't you." He strode jerkily over to the door and opened it, looking back at Harry. "I don't really feel like sharing."

Harry's grin widened and he bounded off after his newly regained friend. "But Dmitry, haven't you heard?" he chirped, casually slinging an arm over the slightly taller boy's shoulders. "Sharing is caring and to show you care means to share." He mock-pouted and widened his eyes to an impossibly large extent. "Don't you care about me?"

"Oh, Harry," Dmitry said, shaking his head. "Don't you understand? Of course I care about you… almost as much as I care about doxies," he finished with a hard shove that easily detached Harry's person from his. He continued walking as if nothing had happened, even as Harry yelped in surprise and stumbled over the edge of one of the few rugs laid out in the common room.

Scowling, Harry caught up with the other boy in the dungeon hall. "Is that really the way you should be treating me whilst my mind is in the fragile state of recent forgiveness?"

"If your mind was really in such a 'fragile state,' you would have never risked shattering it by climbing into bed with me."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the possibly implications of that statement, but didn't speak on them. "Oh? And you're absolutely _positive_ about that? You're a hundred percent sure that I'm not simply testing you? Lulling you into a false sense of security and all that rot?"

"Absolutely," Dmitry said confidently, "because there's no point to you doing that. It would be a complete waste of your time. You secluded yourself from all human contact for an entire month and you could have remained wrapped in your solitude if you simply wanted to 'observe' me, I think."

Harry chuckled humorlessly as they emerged from the dark, dank dungeon passages into the entrance hall. "Smart boy."

"I'm not a dog."

"I never said you were."

"You implied it with the way you said 'boy.'"

Harry rolled his eyes in mild exasperation. "Don't make a mountain out of a molehill. You're reading much too into the pitch of my voice. Lets just drop it, enter the Great Hall, and enjoy a lovely breakfast, courtesy of the hardworking Hogwarts house elves."

He didn't wait for a reply before striding purposefully over to the doors and pushing them open just enough for him to slip inside. There wasn't any reason to fill his entrance with pomp and grandeur, after all.

As predicted, none but a few near the double doors even took notice of him, and those that did sent a quick glare his way before fearfully returning to their meals.

_Ahh, the joys of having people believe I'm petrifying students._

He stalked over to the Slytherin table and fluidly sat on the bench, Dmitry plopping down across from him. That second act was what ended up grabbing the attention most of their table. Harry, who had been actively avoiding the company of others, was allowing Dmitry to dine with him. Their actions left those who noticed pondering over what could have changed between the two.

Midway down the table from the duo attempting to feign obliviousness to their housemates stares, dark eyes narrowed in poorly concealed inquisitive ire. How? Why? Why was Harry allowing Dmitry to keep him company? Would the same courtesy be extended to him?

"Don't worry yourself over it, Tom."

Chocolate eyes unstuck themselves from the boys' at the end of the table and onto the unconcerned blonde spreading jam across his toast. Mercury irises flicked up to meet dark. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You watching them isn't going to _magically_ give you the information you desire." He paused briefly, taking a bite of his food. "And you need direct eye contact in order for legilimency to work."

Tom pursed his lips in annoyance. He crossed his arms and opened his mouth to snap back at the Malfoy scion, but was cut off by the blonde before any words could leave his mouth.

"If you're really that interested in how they managed to rekindle their friendship seemingly overnight, you should ask one of their dorm mates."

"Dorm mates?" Tom repeated in a clipped, frigid voice.

"Yes. Logically, the only people who would possess the knowledge are the ones who played witness to the event when it happened. And since Harry's attitude last night in the common room was frosty to all at best, it's reasonable to assume that the occurrence of forgiveness took place in their dorm room."

"Why don't _you_ ask one of them, 'Raxas?" Orion queried around his mouthful of eggs. "You must be pretty interested to have given the subject so much thought."

"Not particularly–"

Orion snorted. "Blasphemy!" He made a show of pointing his fork in Abraxas' face. The blonde's upper lip curled into a sneer at the offending utensil while their surrounding housemates simply rolled their eyes and tuned the brunette out, something they had all become quite good at. "Don't deny that you're just as curious as Tom about how those two got together again. You can try and refute my statement as much as you like," Orion pushed on as Abraxas opened his mouth to argue, "but I know how much you like Harry, and how much it hurt you when his moody hormones decided to pay a surprise and very unwelcome visit."

"Your table manners are atrocious," Abraxas admonished with pink-stained cheeks, purposefully ignoring Orion's announcement. "I don't know how you intend to take over as Lord of the House of Black if you deem it appropriate to point with your tableware."

"And I know it's impossible for you to _not_ become the next head of the House of Malfoy, what with your stuffy, manners-matter attitude," Orion said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. Turning away from Abraxas's mildly twitching face, he called out to a boy whose name Tom had never really bothered to learn. "Botolph, come here a moment."

Eager to please one of his upper-year housemates, the boy swiftly stood and came to the trio, sitting primly in an empty seat next to Abraxas.

"Yes, Black?"

"You room with Harry and Dmitry, yeah?" Tom's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the way the boy–_Botolph's_ cheeks colored at the perfectly ordinary question.

"Uh, ye-yeah. I'm fifth year, and so we room together, yeah. Why?"

Orion's delicately shaped eyebrows arched at the reply and Abraxas shot Tom a sharp look. Tom was secretly pleased–though the emotion was heavily overshadowed by his steadily rising irritation–that both his friends were able to notice the oddity in Botolph's reply. Although, to be honest, he wouldn't have been too surprised if a troll had been alerted to the boy's nervousness at the line of questioning. Especially with the way he stuttered an answer to them.

"Did you notice anything– ah, how to put it–_abnormal_, take place between them last night?" Botolph's cheeks grew even redder and he glanced down the table at the two boys' in question.

"Not last_ night_," he muttered, heavily emphasizing the last word.

"When?" Tom's single word was harsh and promised a long bout of torturous pain if Botolph refused to answer. "When did you notice something?"

Botolph shivered unconsciously and spoke. "This morning, though I guess _something_ may have happened last night… Yes," he decided with surprising firmness, "I'm sure something transpired between them after the rest of us went to sleep."

"Why?" Abraxas nearly snapped when the younger boy paused, obviously waiting for one of the three elder ones to take his bait.

"_Because_," he continued, "this morning I found them together, _in bed_." Botolph's voice dropped to a whisper. "And I think Harry was, you know, _naked."_

Silence stretched between the four in the deafening din surrounding them, each happy voice of another student reaching Tom's ears as if he was underwater.

No, it wasn't possible. He couldn't believe it; he wouldn't accept it. Tom's mind went blank immediately after the shocking statement, repeating his denial over and over again like a mantra, desperately trying to convince himself that Botolph's words were untrue.

It didn't work. His mind kick-started like a shot from a gun, running a mile a minute and conjuring images and scenes of what Harry and Dmitry may have gotten up to last night. What they probably had, if Botolph was correct. He thought of them kissing; of Harry, naked and writhing in uninhibited pleasure under the ministrations of the Russian boy.

Of Harry smiling that perfect smile of his. That beautiful, innocent, angelic expression… directed at _Dmitry_. Not _him_; not_ Tom. _No longer reserved for only his viewing pleasure.

"Tom?" Orion touched his quivering shoulder gently. When had he started to shake? Without a second thought, he slapped the hand away and jumped to his feet, jostling the table in the process. He ignored the startled cries of the Slytherins attempting to steady their glasses of pumpkin juice. He didn't care. It wasn't his problem.

He whipped around and strode angrily out of the Great Hall. He didn't–he _refused_ to look at Harry as he passed, even though he could feel the boy's questioning stare on him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. If he had turned his head and been engulfed by brilliant green, his rage would have only increased, an occurrence that he _really_ didn't need in front of the whole school.

He heard Abraxas and Orion hastily following behind him, but he didn't stop. He didn't want to stop. He didn't want the attempted condolences and comforting vocations from _people_; humans with intelligence who could give a reasonable explanation for Harry and his actions. He preferred the illogical company of cold-blooded reptilians in this sort of instance.

"_Tom!_" Orion's shout echoed off the tiled walls of the girls bathroom. Tom paused but did not turn. In the mirror above the sink next to the black abyss of the Chamber's entrance, he saw Abraxas perform a swift soundproofing and complex locking charm.

"Tom," the Black heir said again. "What's wrong with you? I know you're upset about what Botolph said, but so am I. So is Abraxas, but you can't just go gallivanting off and open the Chamber like this! What if you had been caught? What if there had been a person in here using the facilities?" He made a face but continued on. "You're normally much more carful about this… you shouldn't do it now. Wait until your head clears–"

Tom let out a chilling, empty laugh. "You both should leave," he advised tonelessly, ignoring everything Orion was saying. He was right, of course. Tom just didn't want to hear it. "Although I can control the basilisk, I can't promise you won't fall victim to her if you stay."

"Tom," Abraxas stepped forward nervously, "I know that you're angry about the whole Harry situation, it would be a lie if I said I wasn't too, but letting the basilisk roam free _now_–"

"Get. _Out." _Two words and time froze. The command in them, the warning, the threat…

Abraxas looked helplessly at Orion, who gave a one-shoulder shrug and shook his head. He'd known Tom six years and never seen the other so enraged. He might act like it sometimes, but Orion really wasn't a fool.

"Be careful, and quick. Charms starts in twenty minutes and we won't be able to cover for you if you're absent or late."

Tom didn't answer. He just took a single step forward and disappeared down the pitch-black pipe. After a few seconds that felt like forever to the two at the top, a hiss echoed up from the bottom and the sink rumbled shut. The two sixth years turned and exited the lavatory, Abraxas undoing his spells as they left.

"Do… Do you think he'll be okay?" Abraxas asked softly, worry evident in his question and downcast eyes.

"Maybe, 'Raxas. Maybe, if things get better between him and Harry…" Orion trailed off and they allowed their feet to lead them to Charms early, in silence, each pondering a different way to better Tom's soiled mood.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

The whole of the Great Hall had noticed Tom's stormy exit, and quite a few people were now gossiping about it. No one had ever seen the charming, perfect Slytherin prefect angry before. Harry had, of course, but was still incredibly startled that the other boy had left in such an obvious fury.

Dmitry's muffled groan brought Harry's gaze away from the doors and back to the Russian. "What?"

"I'm dead," Dmitry groaned, gripping his hair from the roots and resting his elbows on the table. "I'm so dead!"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and tried to think of a reason why Dmitry would die soon. Had he forgotten to finish his transfiguration homework? "I don't understand…"

"You saw how angry Tom was! He'll murder me for sure."

_Ah. _"Uh, hate to break it to you Dmitry, but I doubt Tom will kill you for sharing a meal with me. He's not _that_ petty," Harry joked, trying to better the other's soiled mood.

"It's not just that," Dmitry hissed, leaning forward. His fear-filled eyes flicked down to where Tom had been sitting. "Botolph was talking to them…"

"So?" Harry asked, still confused as to why Dmitry seemed so legitimately scared.

"'_So?'_ I'm sorry, did you _forget_ just who it was who opened he curtains not even an hour ago and caught us together _in bed?"_

Harry smirked, unable to resist. "You make it sound so dirty." He casually sipped his orange juice, grimacing faintly at the pulp and decided to take as much enjoyment as he could from Dmitry's fish-out-of-water expression.

"So," he said casually, looking down the table at the boy he recognized as the one who slept across from Dmitry. "His name's Botolph?"

"Yes–wait, you-you didn't know his _name_?" Dmitry asked in astonishment.

Harry half-shrugged. "I've heard it mentioned, but it never stuck."

"But… he shares a room with us–_has_ shared a room with us since first year!"

"And the only people I've ever paid much attention to are you, Abraxas, Orion, and Tom," Harry easily dismissed. "Don't get me wrong, if my life was on the line or if I thought about it for a minute or two, I'd be able to remember his name, but since we never _talk_, ever, at _all_, it didn't click when you said it a moment ago."

In truth, their brief encounter with Botolph earlier had left his mind completely, replaced with thoughts of breakfast, but if he _had_, like Dmitry suspected, told Tom what he'd seen earlier, Harry didn't doubt it was the cause of Tom's uncontainable ire.

"Don't worry though," he continued when it looked like Dmitry wouldn't recover from his newest announcement. "I'll protect you from Tom and his temper.

The corned of Dmitry's mouth twitched into the beginnings of a small smile. "Will you end up shouting at him and throwing yourself into the path of his spells, using your body as a shield?"

Harry smiled sardonically. "Yes, and when you're in the hospital wing, petrified by the basilisk, I'll even owl-order you some mandrake drought and feed it to you."

Dmitry paled drastically at the thought, but grinned weakly, recognizing it as an attempted joke. "Mouth to mouth?"

"Aha!" Harry pointed dramatically at the startled Russian across from him. "Your proclamations of denial might have fooled an ordinary man, but I knew you were dreaming about me last night!"

Dmitry's eyes bulged as his head whipped around to make sure no one had heard, his cheeks rivaling tomatoes. "Harry–"

"But that's in the past, lets get to Care." Paying no heed to Dmitry's protests, Harry grabbed a last piece of toast to nibble on as he joined the rear of a crowd of second year Slytherins also making their way out into the chilly winds swirling around the grounds, to Herbology.

It was while the fifth year Slytherins and Gryffindors were enjoying a thoroughly interesting lesson on bundium–courtesy of Professor Kettleburn– that Professor Slughorn came waddling down from the castle. Most of the students, who had been poking their individual globs of sludge with twigs, being careful to avoid the eyes, paused in their activities to watch the portly potions professor struggle across the uneven terrain.

"Can I help you with something, Horace?" Professor Kettleburn asked with narrowed eyes when Slughorn had finally reached them at the edge of the forest.

"You'll need to take the Gryffindors back to their common room. There's been another attack, I'm afraid."

All at once, Professor Slughorn was bombarded with frantic questions about the newest victim from the Gryffindors while some of the Slytherins exchanged nervous glances. A few of the more ignorant Gryffindors threw hateful glares Harry's way, and he just sneered back. Really, how thick could they be to still think he was responsible for the attacks when he'd been with them the whole time?

_Idiots._

"Settle down, settle down," Professor Kettleburn called out harshly over the multitude of loud voices, each one trying to be heard over the other. "But why do I have to end class? There's still thirty minutes left I can use, and I seriously doubt anyone would try to attack us as a group."

"Yes, yes, I agree. You don't know how bothersome it was to clean out the potions classroom when Dumbledore showed up… But no, class needs to end now. Dippet is calling a faculty meeting and doesn't want the students running rampant with, well, you know. They'll be locked into their common rooms respectively until the meeting is over, at least."

He waved his arm in a half-circle and turned back to the castle. "Slytherins, follow me."

Harry listened to Professor Kettleburn's grumbling about their wasted class period until they were too far away to hear the rant. He followed in the middle of the small grouping, but once they had passed the threshold of the castle into the entrance hall, Dmitry pulled him to the back. They trailed behind until there were a good two meters between them and the rest of the group before Dmitry spoke.

"You know why Tom petrified this student, right?" he whispered, so quietly that Harry had to lean closer and strain his ears to catch his words.

"Because they're a muggle-born?" he returned, eyeing the cluster ahead for eavesdroppers. "And it was his basilisk, not him."

"It's the same thing!" Dmitry argued. "And it was completely probably because of us!" He bit his lip and looked wearily around them. "What if he was looking for me?"

"Then he didn't do a very good job of it, considering you're still walking about."

"Harry!"

"It's true. He knew you were in the Great Hall. He knew you were with me. I'm pretty sure he still remembers my class schedule, and he knows you have all your classes with me. Ergo, if he was really looking for you, he did a completely crap job of it."

"I'm serious! What if he was trying to find me and petrify me?"

Harry snorted, unable to contain himself, and a straggling pair of girls turned twin inquisitive gazes back at him. Harry shook his head at Dmitry's theory.

"Have you been listening to a word I said?"

"Yes–"

"Then you'd realize that, if Tom _were_ looking for you with the basilisk, he'd find me too. So saying that he's going after you and you alone, while it may have some merit, can't possibly be what he was doing earlier because if he were going after you, by default, he would have been trying to petrify me as well, and I seriously doubt he's attempting that. Even if we are having a bit of a tiff right now."

Harry sighed and patted his friend consolingly on the back. "You need to stop jumping to conclusions. It's bad for both your emotional health and state of mentality." He paused for a moment and mulled over his comment. "And mine as well. I don't need you making such a big deal out of such small things. I'll end up becoming a nervous, jumpy wreck. Which would be bad. _Very_ bad."

Dmitry let out a low whine of disagreement, but didn't say anything more because they had arrived at the entrance to the common room. Slughorn wearily spoke the password before wheeling around, his eyes on the group of fifth years.

"Classes will begin again after the staff meeting." His mouth pulled down into a scowl. "Not that a staff meeting in the middle of the _school_ day is a necessity that can't be put off," he grumbled as the students marched past. "Dippet wouldn't even be disrupting classes if it weren't for Albus… probably wants to suggest another search of the Slytherin dorms again… don't know what he thinks he'll find…"

The wall closed behind Harry and Dmitry as Slughorn ambled back down the passage, annoyed mutters accompanying him.

Like when the first body had been discovered on Halloween, the common room was packed. However, unlike the thick, tense, silent atmosphere that had permeated the room on October thirty-first, the students now were using this lock-in as a free period and time for socialization with their peers.

"Maybe we should go up to the dorm?" Harry proposed, looking around the overcrowded room with distaste. "I don't want to have to stand until Slughorn gets back."

"Or you could go talk to Tom," Dmitry encouraged meekly, shifting so that Harry's small frame was blocking him. Harry tilted his head back and followed the blue gaze until he met the ferocious glare Tom was directing their way from across the room. Harry's patience for the day was wearing thin, so he responded to Tom's hostility with a condescending glance one might give a petulant child. He winced internally and mentally berated himself for stirring the pot when Tom's gaze darkened and his grip on the armrests of his chair tightened until his knuckles were bone-white.

"No," Harry said, breaking eye contact and pulling Dmitry to the staircase. "It's loud, overcrowded, and I think it would be best to give Tom a bit of space until he's cooled down.

Dmitry put up no resistance and allowed his body to be dragged all the way to their dorm. No one was there–for which Harry was grateful. He quickly crossed the room and threw himself face-first down onto his mattress. He let out a long, loud sigh that was mostly muffled by the comforter. Why did Tom have to release the basilisk _again_? Was he striving for an attack every two weeks? There was no way he'd be able to get away with it, Harry thought worriedly. The teachers would crack down much faster than they had during his first second year, the Ministry would most likely be brought in, the chance of school closing would raise to a point too high to return from…

Harry clenched the covers of his bed in his balled-up hands. He didn't want to go back to Wool's. Not early, not ever. He hated it there. _Tom_ hated it there. The older boy had promised, since he'd be seventeen come summer at the end of this year, that he'd take Harry away from that horrid place. The two had taken on jobs for the past few summers in the muggle world and had already saved up enough money to spend next summer in the Leaky Cauldron. And if they ran into any problems, Harry didn't doubt that, if they asked, Abraxas or Orion or Dmitry would gladly lend them a few galleons. Not that Tom would ever actually ask. He was too proud sometimes. But if the school closed before Harry had the chance to make things better with the other boy…

He didn't really want to think about it. He'd had to endure Wool's alone once, he never wanted to go through it again.

He let out a frustrated half-shout and felt the bed dip beside him. A soothing hand touched his back and began rubbing calming circles through the fabric. He turned his head to the side to settle in a more comfortable position.

"Everything's going to be fine," Dmitry hushed softly, oblivious to the real reasons Harry was going through emotional turmoil, but easing the tension from his body all the same. "I know, like you said, I'm not really helping much by making such a big deal out of things, but everything will be okay in the end. I mean, it's you and Tom we're talking about. Tom can't stay mad at you. He might act like it sometimes on the outside, but on the inside, I don't think it's humanly possible."

Harry snorted as an image of Voldemort casting crucio on him popped up in his head. Oh, if only Dmitry knew…

Muscles he didn't even realize were tense began to relax under Dmitry's fingers, and after a while he felt his eyelids become heavy and start to droop.

_It wouldn't be _too _bad if I took a nap,_ he reasoned sleepily. _After all the stress I've been put through…_ The colors of the outside world were lost behind his eyelids and everything became black.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

"_Why have you come? What did you possibly think you'd accomplish by following me down here?" Tom turned slowly to face Harry, the younger boy's hard breaths coming out in puffs, visible as white mist in the icy temperature surrounding them._

"_You can't keep this up. It's wrong; you know it's wrong," Harry argued, trying desperately to get the other boy to see sense._

_Tom gazed longingly back at the enormous statue of Slytherin Harry knew housed the basilisk._

"_No," Tom murmured. "What's wrong is allowing those filthy mudbloods to pollute this school with their… _impurity_."_

_Harry's hands curled into fists. "Please, Tom. It doesn't matter. They aren't hurting anyone; just leave them alone. Ignore them, pretend they don't exist–"_

"_And if I comply?" Cruel eyes snapped to Harry's face. "I think," the other boy reasoned, stalking forward like a predator moving in for the kill, "that, should I go along with your foolish want, your silly wish for me to 'leave the mudbloods alone', I should receive a… reward, of sorts. Don't you agree?"_

_He stopped just a hairs-breath away, well-within Harry's personal space. Stretching out a hand, Tom cupped the delicate face gently, as if it was the most fragile thing in the world–a stark contrast to his frigid words. A harsh smirk twisted his refined, aristocratic features as he ran the pad of thumb over Harry's lower lip._

_Harry had frozen in shock and horror. Shock that Tom was touching him in such a way, looking at him as if he were a great delicacy to be devoured, and horror that a small part of him was enjoying it._

"_So," Tom's voice was gravelly with desire, his heated breath caressing Harry's face from their close proximity, "what shall you allow me to claim as my prize?"_

"_Anything," Harry responded breathily, momentarily startled by the quality of his tone and by his answer. It didn't last long though. Tom's smirk widened, pleased with Harry's reaction, and he leaned down, closing the short distance between them._

_Harry eagerly responded to the harsh, unforgiving mouth devouring him, grasping at the front of Tom's robes and tangling a hand in the dark hair. A warm tongue swiped across the seam of his lips, demanding entrance, to which Harry readily complied, parting them to allow the alien muscle access._

_Tom's free arm wrapped around his waist, hand traveling down his lower back and sliding further south to firmly cup his arse. Harry moaned into the kiss at the unexpected contact, arching shamelessly back into the hand that had begun to knead him through his trousers._

_Tom disconnected their mouths, earning a small mewl of protest from Harry that quickly turned into a gasp as his neck was assaulted. Sucking, biting, and soothing licks skillfully dragged delicious sounds from the depths of his throat. Harry felt Tom grin against his slickened skin at the noises and grit his teeth in pleasure, breaths heavy and labored._

_Tom's tongue dragged, tantalizingly slow, vertically over his Adam's apple, and Harry's eyes snapped fully open to see–_

–The top of his velvet, emerald canopy. He blinked several times, attempting to clear the post-sleep fog from his mind. He was in his dorm, not the Chamber of Secrets?

_A dream, then?_

He slumped down onto the mattress, feeling his cheeks burn as he realized he'd been arching off the bed and then get hotter when the only plausible reason for him to be in such a position came back, hitting him in full-force.

The notion that he'd been having _that_ sort of dream about Tom… it was inconceivable! His embarrassment for the situation only grew as he realized his lower body had reacted to it, leaving him with a bit of a problem. Thank Merlin the room was empty. He spared a brief thought as to why Dmitry wasn't there, but brushed it off to the Russian being bored whilst he napped. He refocused his attention on trying to deal with the mild erection he was now sporting, absolutely refused to try and physically finish himself off. Instead, he settled for an image of Snape as the Sugarplum Fairy to help deflate his arousal.

It worked like magic.

As he lay, face up on his bed, he bit his lip. He didn't understand. He liked_ girls_; Ginny and Cho were proof of that. Yes, he acknowledged that Tom was attractive, but so were many other males Harry knew or had known, and he'd never had any sexual dreams about _them._

_Although_, his traitorous mind supplied, _there was that time during the Triwizard Tournament where you imagined what it would be like if Cedric had come to the prefects bathroom to 'help' you with your egg…_

Red-faced again, Harry brushed the old fantasy away and decided to store this new dream with it. There was no reason for him to think about it, so he wouldn't. It would only bring more unnecessary stress to him than he needed at the moment.

The door to the dorm opened and Dmitry came strolling in. "Oh," the Russian exclaimed, "you're awake. Sorry, if I knew, I would have–"

Harry waved a hand dispassionately in the air above him. "Save it. Just because we're friends, doesn't mean you're obligated to spend all your time with me, unconditionally."

"I know, but…" Dmitry trailed off, standing awkwardly near the door and fidgeting slightly. Harry let his head fall to the side and watched Dmitry's uncertain display with mild interest.

"By the way," he began, "what ever happened to you waking me up for class?"

"They were canceled," Dmitry replied smoothly, ceasing his twitchy movements. "Slughorn came in to tell us about an hour after you dozed off. He was ranting pretty heavily about Dumbledore though," he snickered. "Apparently, he was first pushing a thorough investigation of the Slytherin dorms, then all the dorms when it was pointed out that singling out one dorm was unfair and would create more bad tension between the Houses, and finally tried to push the staff to escort the students everywhere. Unfortunately for him, all his ideas were shot down by the headmaster; the last because there are simply too many students with different places they want to be."

"Did they manage to come up with _any_ new ways to protect the students against the 'heir' threat?" Harry asked in dubious wonder.

"Nothing other than to keep a stricter eye on all of us, I suppose," Dmitry reasoned with a shrug. "What can they really do, anyway; other than round everyone up and question us under the influence of Veritaserum one by one."

Harry silently agreed. "So, what have you been doing whilst I took on the role of Sleeping Beauty?"

"Not much." Dmitry let his body slump back against the stone wall. "I worked on some unfinished homework up here for a bit. Went down to the common room to write a few letters home and socialize." His upper lip curled into a vicious snarl. "I'm going to personally murder Botolph in the most gruesome and painful way imaginable, by the way."

"Oh?" Harry had an inkling of why Dmitry was upset, but he still wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth. "How come?"

"Because I was right in my assumption. While I was down in the common room, I spoke to Orion a bit. I think he was trying to act as a peaceful intermediary for Tom… Anyway, turns out that, not only did Botolph tell them he found us together in bed, he insinuated we had sex as well."

Silence.

"I think I'll help you in that murderous ploy of yours," Harry said through grit teeth as rage bubbled up within him. He'd already had enough rumors started about him to last both his lifetimes; he didn't need any more. _Especially_ gossip instigated by his own roommates. "Why did it seem to piss Tom off so much, though? It's my business who I sleep with, you know, if I was_ actually_ sleeping with you…"

"Well, technically you were–" Harry's frosty glare could have chilled the sun, "–but it was probably because he was jealous of our supposed closeness," Dmitry hurriedly amended with a shaky laugh.

Harry blinked owlishly. "That… makes no sense…"

"Yes it does. You told me what it was like for you and Tom at the orphanage, how close you two were. You two only had each other, and that created an odd sort of bond between you. It's why you were mad when he didn't tell you about the Chamber, probably, and why he was practically spitting fire when he thought you'd been engaging in a sexual sort of relationship with me," Dmitry explained evenly. "I've seen how possessive he can get of you at times, you can't say it's not true. Tom felt betrayed this morning at the thought that you'd kept our 'relationship' a secret, and he was overcome with wild jealousy because he believed you'd found something more important than him."

Harry didn't say anything for a long while, mulling Dmitry's words over. "I understand," he started slowly, "but I don't think you're completely correct on the jealousy point. Tom isn't like that."

"Yes, because he _really_ wasn't jealous when he _thought_ you had a thing for Aqulia; before it was pointed out that Orion set the two of you up," Dmitry said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. Harry pursed his lips. Dmitry had a point…_ why_ did he have to have a point?

"Can we just not talk about it?" he asked, desperately trying to ignore the quickening of his heartbeat and the odd feeling in his stomach at Tom's supposed jealousy of Dmitry. And Aquila.

He was probably hungry; he hadn't eaten since breakfast…

"Only if you promise to go and _try_ to talk to him soon. Appease his anger and pacify the demon lurking within that threatens to destroy us all if it isn't tamed soon."

Harry grinned and shook his head at Dmitry's over-dramatized declaration. At least he was never want for an explanation as to why the Russian got along so well with Orion.

_Birds of a feather… _"Okay, I'll talk to him."

Dmitry let out a whoop of joy.

"But not today. Within a week I guess." He gave Dmitry a sheepish half-smile. "I'll need to pluck up all my Gryffindor courage to face that 'demon' of his."

Dmitry sneered at the thought of Harry possessing any _Gryffindor_ qualities within him, but it morphed into an excited smile anyway. They were going to be together again, all five of them, just like before the nasty business with Tom and his new pet basilisk. He could hardly contain his crackling anticipation.

Two days passed before a chance presented itself to Harry to make good on his promise. He and Dmitry had gone outside during their free period after lunch to play in the snow, and they weren't the only ones. It was fresh snow, fallen just the previous night, and no one was immune to its temptation for long.

As he was doubled over laughing at Dmitry's bewildered expression from having been smacked in the side of the head by a Hufflepuff's snowball, he caught sight of Tom at the top of the castle steps ten meters away. Tom, watching, face stonily impassive but eyes betraying the unhappy swirl of emotions within. When the taller boy realized Harry had seen him, he spun on his heel with his robes billowing in a circle around him, and stalked inside.

_Now or never…_

"I'll catch you later," Harry said to Dmitry, who was slightly puzzled by the hint of resignation in Harry's tone.

"Alright," he replied, but he needn't have bothered. Harry had already taken off, running with difficulty through the drifts of snow.

Harry was already out of breath by the time he reached the entrance hall, but he pushed on when he noticed Tom disappearing up the marble staircase at the other end of the room. Chasing after the elder boy, he became annoyed that he was running while Tom was simply walking fast, yet it didn't seem to be making much of a difference. He turned a corner, skidding on the stones and saw Tom, hand moving to open the door to the girls bathroom.

"TOM!" The slender hand flinched to a stop. Cold eyes turned to him but he jogged, undeterred, to where the taller boy was standing, panting because of the physical effort he'd just displayed. "Talk with me?" was the simple answer to the questioning gaze.

"Class starts soon," came the clipped reply. Harry shrugged, trying to appear calmer than he was. His rapidly beating heart was the only thing that betrayed him.

"I don't have class this period." He looked Tom dead in the eyes, all vague nonchalance replaced with utter seriousness. "We need to talk."

Tom's gaze flicked to the bathroom door and back to Harry's face. He dropped his hand. "Lead the way."

And Harry did, right down to the Slytherin common room, passing only a cluster of chatty Hufflepuffs and subdued Ravenclaws on their way to potions. When they arrived, Harry let loose a sigh of relief that it was deserted. Tom passed him, taking the lead, and crossed to a leather armchair near the fireplace. Harry followed but remained standing a few feet away. It didn't feel like a conversation he could have sitting down.

They stared at each other, the crackling of the low-burning fire distracting Harry every time he thought he'd found the right sentence to begin their conversation. The blunt words he ultimately ended up blurting out, he immediately felt like smacking himself for.

"Why are you acting like such a child?" Yep, he was mentally bashing his head against a brick wall for coming up with such an antagonistic phrase to try and begin their discussion that was supposed to hopefully bring an end to the hard feelings between them.

_So much for that,_ he thought with a wince while maintaining his impassive façade as Tom opened his mouth to speak.

"I am _not_," the older boy snapped, darkening his already lethal glare.

"Yes you are," Harry pressed on, deciding to just go with it. "You're throwing a tantrum because I'm speaking with Dmitry and not you."

"Like you _weren't _throwing your _own_ tantrum this past _month_ by ignoring everyone," Tom retorted with a scoff.

Harry squashed his minor desire to leap over and strangle the other boy. It didn't stop his fingers from giving a slight twitch though. "That doesn't matter right now. I'm not saying that how I behaved was perfect, but it's not like you're acting faultlessly at the moment either. Setting the basilisk loose because you feel neglected–"

"I do not!" Tom interrupted indignantly, and Harry could almost swear the older boy was just _barely_ flushing, but it could have been a trick of the flickering light of the fire.

"–is childish and, quite frankly, disgusting," Harry pressed on. "Your original reasoning for your actions with the muggle-born attacks is unknown to me, but if it's anything like the one two days ago–which I _know _was because of Dmitry and me–or the one you were about to let happen…" he trailed off, shaking his head in disappointment. Tom stayed silent, not offering up a word of defense, and scrutinized the younger boy's face with a weary eye.

"I'm not allowing the basilisk to roam free based on… _primitive_ teenage emotions alone," he finally said, his jaw clenched and his lips barely moving.

"Oh?" Harry questioned, arching an eyebrow and cocking his head to the side.

"It's because they're worthless as a whole," Tom spat, glaring at the black marble hearth. "They don't deserve to learn magic–at least, not here. They come to this school, enter wizarding society completely ignorant and don't even try to assimilate to the new culture they're exposed to."

"By that logic neither you nor I should be here now either," Harry pointed out. "Being muggle-raised in an orphanage… and neither of us know our blood-roots–"

"Half-blood," Tom said quietly. He raised his eyes to meet Harry's. "I'm half-blood."

Harry's mouth, which had been hanging open from Tom's first pronouncement, snapped shut with a click. _When did he find out? _"And how did you arrive at that conclusion?"

Tom flexed his long fingers and Harry watched through impassive eyes as a muscle worked itself in the elder's jaw.

"Summer… This summer." Tom went back to observing the fire. "You remember when I went away for a bit–to Abraxas' house, I said?"

Harry nodded, not that the other boy could see. "Was it a lie?"

"Not completely," Tom said shortly. "I really was there–most of the time anyway. I was curious, and I always wanted to _know_, so I visited his house for the sole purpose of invading his library, using his pureblood genealogy tome to try and find my family." He paused. "You know my middle name, my mother's father's name?"

"Marvolo," Harry acknowledged, to show he was paying attention.

Tom dipped his head slightly. "Correct. It's unique. Not common, not truly _muggle._ I looked up all the wizards who had been named 'Marvolo' in the last hundred years. There were only a few, and just one in England. He was deceased, but he had two children. A daughter labeled _'Status Unknown_' and a son located in Little Hangleton."

Harry was sure he knew how the rest of this tale unfolded, but he said nothing, allowing Tom to explain his story. The dark-eyed boy's upper lip curled into a sneer at the memories coming to the forefront of his mind.

"And so. I. Went." He scoffed. "I don't know what I _thought_ I'd find–no, that's I lie. I know what I'd _hoped_ to find, but nothing I'd ever dreamt up, nothing I'd ever foolishly fantasized was even close to the reality of the situation." Tom leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes in remembrance. "The _house–_if you could even call it a house–where Marvolo's son resided was a run-down, dirty, appalling little _shack_. It was falling apart–a complete disgrace to the Slytherin line." He cracked open an eye. "Marvolo's family, the Gaunt's, they were descended directly from Slytherin, by the way. That's why I can speak Parseltongue…

"When I arrived, it took me a while to debate whether I should even go inside. In the end, my thirst for knowledge won out and I did so–almost immediately regretting my decision when I was attacked _with a knife._" Tom gave a hollow, empty laugh. "My uncle, one-hundred percent pureblood, lowering himself to _muggle_ standards of offence. And do you want to know _why _he attacked me?" Tom's eyes snapped open, reflecting the glowing, orange firelight, and a look of pure revulsion contorted his face. "He thought I was a _muggle._"

He gave an eerie chuckle that sent a chill down Harry's spine. "But, I suppose he was right, in a way. I _am_ a Riddle." Tom grimaced and directed his gaze towards his knees. "After I got all the information I needed from Marvolo's son, I went up to Riddle manor–yes, _manor. _Think about it, I could have been raised among the wealthy elite of society, but instead I was left with the poorest of the poor. Though," his tone softened briefly, "I suppose, if that happened, I never would have met you…"

"We would have met at Hogwarts," Harry mentioned quickly, conceding mentally that it still probably wouldn't have happened if Tom really had grown up in a different environment. Harry never would have accidently traveled back in time trying to ward his house against Voldemort. Probably.

Tom's lips twitched minutely. "Yes, I guess we would have. But it wouldn't have been the same… Anyway, after the _delightful_ meeting with my _charming_ uncle, I didn't have high hopes for the rest of my family. It's a good thing, too, since the moment they opened their door to me I was bombarded with scorn, disgust and hate from my biological father and grandparents. Yes, my _grandparents _stood there looking down on me like I was nothing more than a pest, a _cockroach_. The nerve–_I'm _the wizard; _I'm _the one with magic. They're _nothing_," Tom hissed, outraged. "At one point, my _grandfather_ had the gall to call me–oh, what was it–'the bastard son of a trickster whore'. It was painfully obvious to me that they were aware of my mother's pregnancy when my father abandoned her. It was obvious to me that they'd hoped I was _dead_."

The crackling of the burning logs in the fireplace was the only sound that passed between the two boys for the longest of times. Harry didn't know what to say. He'd heard what happened between Tom and his relatives from Dumbledore–seen a memory in the future headmaster's pensive–but he'd never given much thought to how Tom might have felt in regards to his only living relatives treatment of him. The persona the older boy was giving off at the moment was one of extremely irritated distaste, but Harry could clearly see the lingering pain the encounter had caused. It was heart wrenching.

"And that's why you've decided to set the basilisk on the students?" Harry asked gently, trying not to anger his visibly upset friend further. "You've decided that none of the muggle-borns are worthy of survival simply because of the actions of a few bigoted idiots who aren't even a part of our world?"

"I haven't decided to kill them off," Tom said brusquely, ruffled by Harry's assumption.

"Oh, then what were you hoping to accomplish by setting a giant snake that can _kill with its eyes_ loose in the school?" Harry retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Fear," Tom breathed, his eyes narrowing. "I want them to fear me. To be able to instill fear in others is the ultimate form of power and control. They are all lower-class beings that were _made_ to be ruled, and through their fear, I will rule them."

Harry just stared at Tom with a look of disbelief on his face. "Fear might be able to breed obedience, but it also fosters dissent. Those who aren't afraid of you, those who don't want to be ruled–and muggles hate being ruled in the way I know you're thinking; complete tyranny, a dictatorship. Come on, Tom," he begged. "We _lived_ through the second Great War. Don't tell me you don't realize how powerful muggles can be, how powerful they've _become._ Maybe if you wanted to rule over them a century ago, _half_ a century ago, it would have been possible but…" He shook his head. "You'll need to take a different route if you want to conquer the world."

Tom's lips hardened into a thin line as Harry continued to speak, and when the younger boy seemingly finished, he opened his mouth to retort, but was cut-off as Harry started up again.

"Your displeasure of muggles, I can understand. Your biological muggle family is crap, and those at the orphanage weren't much better. But I don't understand why you seem to despise the _muggle-borns_ as well. They have magic, same as us." He stared condescendingly down at his friend. "And what about me? There's a good chance I might be a muggle-born; do you want to rule over me too? Make me a slave, no better than a house elf at your beck and call. To do your bidding without question or face harsh, unjust punishment?"

They both stayed there, glaring the other down until Harry sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I don't want to fight with you anymore, Tom. That's why I chased after you, why I forced you into this conversation. I do agree that muggle-borns and muggle-raised children who know nothing of the wizarding world need to be better integrated into our society, but I don't think they should be made into lower-class citizens. They should have the same rights as purebloods and half-bloods–they weren't made to be dominated."

Tom didn't answer. He continued to watch Harry with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. "If you don't want to fight with me, why are you challenging everything I say?" he asked coldly.

Harry growled in frustration and threw up his hands in aggravation. "In case it escaped your notice, this entire conversation was _instigated_ by a problem I have with your _attitude!_"

"So this wasn't a round-about way of you coming to apologize for how _you've_ been acting?" Tom asked with a calm sense of superiority. Harry could only gape, open-mouthed and completely flabbergasted. Tom merely crossed his legs and laced his fingers together, cocking his head to the side and looking at Harry expectantly.

"I-what-NO!" Harry spluttered. "Where did you come up with _that_ idea? If I were here to apologize, it would have been the first thing out of my mouth. In fact, the one who _should_ be apologizing is _you._" He said, pointing a finger at Tom. The accused boy only raised an eyebrow at the exaggerated gesture.

"For what? Excluding you from my plans? Last time I checked, I hadn't signed an agreement to keep you in the loop with all I do. Actually, going back to what we were discussing earlier, this need for an apology from me you feel you deserve is just a continuation of your huffy mood from the past month."

Harry felt his cheeks burn at the admonishment. "That may be so, but yours is too! And at least no one was ever _hurt_ by my actions." And it was true. No one had come to be harmed by his "tantrum."

"I was."

It was quiet, a mumbled whisper to his ears. His heart sped up as the words processed fully in his brain. His furiously annoyed gaze softened at the poorly masked expression of sadness on Tom's face.

"I was hurt," the older boy said again, louder this time. "You might not have allowed a basilisk to use the school halls as its playground–a danger, I'll admit, to staff and students alike–but the pain and the damage you caused was worse, in my opinion at least."

If it weren't happening right in front of him, Harry wouldn't believe it. Tom, his friend Tom, future Dark Lord, boy whom Dumbledore accused to be cold, sadistic, and uncaring towards all, was saying his _feelings_ were hurt. That _Harry_ had caused him emotional distress by not speaking to him for a month.

"Why?" was the only thing his dumbfounded state could seem to inquire.

Tom snorted sardonically, a forlorn smile marring his face. "'Why'–do you really have to ask? You're my best friend, and it's been that way since we were children. Of course it's going to hurt me when the person I care about most in the world completely ignores me and acts as if I no longer exist just because I had a small error in judgment."

During Tom's speech, Harry had slowly closed the distance between them. He had raised his hand to place it comfortingly on the other's shoulder until the final declaration and he froze, not even allowing a breath to pass his lips. He was Tom's favorite person. Him. Not Abraxas, not Orion, not Dmitry, _him_; Harry. It was unbelievable, unfathomable; he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around it. A pleasant warmth blossomed in his chest and spread throughout his entire body, warming him better than a Pepper-Up potion, and a dazzling smile lighting up his face. All his feelings of negativity towards Tom seemed to vanish, wiped away with the careless statement.

The hand that had been suspended in midair fell, gently landing on Tom's shoulder. The older boy's head turned abruptly and his eyes followed the length of the arm, trailing up Harry's neck and face until he met a pair of sparking emerald gems.

"I'm sorry."

Two words. Two simple, easy words and the thick, heavy air around the pair dissipated into nothing. Tom huffed and quickly looked away, but that didn't stop Harry from catching the faint blush on his cheeks or the way the corners of Tom's mouth were twitching to keep a smile off his face. His own grin only widened in response.

"Don't say it with amusement, plain for the world to see, written in bold lettering across your face," Tom said with no real bite to it.

Harry chuckled and perched himself on the arm of the chair. "I can't help my happiness from showing, Tom, but that doesn't lesson my remorse. I do feel badly about how I've behaved–honestly, I do. I was even wondering just the other day when I should best approach you to rekindle our supposedly broken friendship."

"Yet you still went to Dmitry first," Tom muttered darkly.

"Because he'd done less wrong to me than you–but I don't want to get into that again," Harry said hastily as Tom started to open his mouth to protest. "It's in the past now, let's leave it there," he finished hopefully.

Tom frowned thoughtfully before letting out a deep sigh and allowing his head to fall and rest against Harry's side.

"It's not that I didn't want to include you," he began slowly. Harry hummed and threaded his fingers through Tom's locks. He wondered briefly how the older boy managed to keep them so soft. "More like… I didn't want you involved; at all, in any way. If things went horridly wrong–not like I _really_ thought they would, but there's always a chance–if I was found out to be behind the attacks, the man behind the curtain, I didn't want you to get in trouble. Obviously, since you're my friend and are with me year-round, you'd come under close scrutiny if I were caught and there's no doubt you would be questioned with Veritaserum, but if you _really knew nothing,_ there's no way you could be punished, no way for you to be incriminated."

Tom–Harry supposed it was an unconscious action–gave a small nuzzle to the hand massaging his scalp. "I just wanted to protect you from the worst possible outcome; from being sent to Azkaban. Though, I guess it was all for naught since you somehow already knew it was me." He gazed up at Harry. "How _did_ you know that anyway?"

Harry's smile faltered for a moment. "I'll tell you some other day. Maybe… if you're good."

Tom let out a heavy breath and looked away but didn't try and disentangle his hair from Harry's fingers.

"Because _that's _fair," he pointed out sarcastically. "You can have your secrets but if I choose not to tell you something, you're up in arms about it."

"It's not the same," Harry said, unperturbed. "You can have your secrets, I don't mind. It's when you tell _everyone else but me _that I'll get a bit annoyed."

"But what if it's supposed to be a surprise?" Tom asked innocently, a slight, uncharacteristic whine to his voice. "Like a birthday party? Surely you wouldn't be angry with that?"

"Oh, surprise parties are the worst thing you could hide from me," Harry replied with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I'd probably snub you for _two_ months if you tried to spring one of those on me."

Tom sighed in faux depression. "No surprise birthday parties or secrets other people are in on… you're absolutely no fun at all. Why am I friends with you again?"

"Because for some obtuse reason only the gods are aware of, after I flung my dinner at you that night when we first met all those years ago for being a right arse–"

"Excuse me?"

"–you fell in love with me," Harry teased, not really meaning it. He was unprepared for the sudden push–a very un-Tom-like action–to send him sprawling on the floor. Rolling onto his back, he glared daggers up at Tom, who was simply gazing down at him as if he were a particularly interesting sort of curious creature.

"You should be more careful when sitting on the edge of things."

"_Me? _You pushed–" Harry snapped his mouth shut as the entrance to the common room opened and Abraxas and Orion came stumbling in. _What timing…_ Their laughter abruptly ceased when they caught sight of Harry, red-faced on the floor, and Tom elegantly situated in his chair.

"Erm," Orion said nervously. "Are we… interrupting… something?"

Abraxas rolled his eyes skyward. "Obviously we're interrupting, you twit. The real question to be asked is whether or not it's something of great importance." His gaze switched expectantly between the duo.

Harry mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and Tom rose gracefully from his chair.

"It's nothing, we were just finishing up." He strode over to the other pair. "Actually, I was just thinking of going to the library. Professor Merrythought asked me to write up a report on famous curses of the Dark Ages. It's not like I need the extra credit, but it gives me something to do." He looked back at Harry and cocked an eyebrow. It was all the invitation the younger boy needed to quickly scramble up and over to join Tom, who had already begun walking. He could sincerely say from the bottom of his heart as Abraxas and Orion joined them in stride, that he was happy to once again be by Tom's side.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Before anyone comments on how Harry apologized but Tom didn't, yes Harry said the words "I'm sorry" but Tom explained his actions. He didn't tell Harry about the basilisk because he was protecting Harry in a round-about sort of way, and for that, he's not sorry. He's just... ahh... annoyed? I guess that it got so out of hand and _is _sorry Harry got so bent-out-of-shape about it. And Harry understands that. So even though he didn't specifically say the exact words "I'm sorry" his explanation for his actions was kind of like an apology/excuse... Understand? If you do, yay~ If not, you can ask me in a review or message or something and I'll try to explain it better... (nwn);;


	9. Chapter 9

_A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world_. –Leo Buscaglia

The library was uncommonly quiet, devoid even of the whispered conversations Madame Pince occasionally allowed; if you were a good student, that is. The reason for the silence was due in part to it being the middle of the day; most of the school was attending classes. There was, however, a small scattering of students–upper years–who were frantically scratching away at lengths of parchment. Harry supposed they were finishing up homework they had foolishly put off. He too had once been a procrastinator, though not as good as Ron, but the habit had luckily died as his mind grew older.

Tom led the quartet through the many bookshelves and tables before stopping at their usual secluded station. Harry liked it because it was partially hidden from the rest of the room by a diagonally placed shelf, and because of the tall, arched gothic window above the table. It gave a pretty view of the snow-covered grounds.

After placing his bag–which he had all along–down next to his customary seat at the head of the table, Tom stalked off, presumably to look for a reference book if what he'd said about that essay for Professor Merrythought had been true. Orion and Abraxas sat down on one side of the rectangular table, and Harry took a seat across from the blonde. It was one away from Tom, but also closer to the window and Harry wanted to be able to look out it whenever fancy took him. And, as it happened, once he was settled he decided to observe the Care of Magical Creatures class three stories below. Professor Kettleburn had procured a Porlock and was showing it off to the fifth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

"So," Orion casually began, snapping Harry's attention back to the elder Slytherin duo, "you and Tom have worked out your, eh, problem now, have you?"

Harry blinked slowly, thinking of the best way to answer. "Well… What do you think?"

"One would presume that things between the two of you have returned to normal," Abraxas cut in, "but… we did find you on the floor, with a rather furious expression when we arrived in the common room…"

"Only because Tom knocked me onto the floor," Harry said, eyes narrowing slightly in remembrance.

"Evidence that things haven't worked themselves out completely yet," Orion pointed out.

"But we were getting along fine before that." Harry sighed lightly and looked back out the window, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. "I guess a good answer would be that we're fine for now, but not to the extent we used to be. It'll be a while before that happens, I think."

Orion gave a one-shouldered shrug and dug in his bag, pulling out a potions text and a half-written essay. Abraxas, on the other hand, wasn't quite yet ready to drop the subject. "How come?"

"Oh, a few things, really," Harry said cryptically. He wasn't sure he wanted to give the complete reasons behind his actions out to the two in front of him. They were, after all, better friends with Tom than they were with him, and he didn't want any information getting back to the other boy before _he_ was ready for it. "A couple of things Tom said, a few things I said–we'll work it out eventually." He spared a quick glance Abraxas' way and noted the older boy didn't appear appeased with that answer. However, he seemed to think better than pushing the subject as Tom had returned, a heavy and very old tome clutched with both hands.

"That looks like it's from the restricted section," Orion said, peering inquisitively at the book.

"Because it is," Tom replied with a self-satisfied grin on his face. "Obscure and forgotten curses require obscure and forgotten texts."

"And we finally arrive at the real reason why you'd waste your time with an extra credit project for Merrythought," Harry stated dryly with a single arched brow. Tom didn't even look his way as he slid gracefully into his chair.

"Alas, you've found me out. Whatever shall I do?" Tom said tonelessly, flipping through to the index. The corners of Harry's lips quirked up despite himself. It really _had_ been too long since Tom had joked around with him…

A serene quiet steeled over the group, punctured by the sounds of quills scratching and pages turning. Unlike the rest of his friends, Harry did not have his school bag. He'd left it outside for Dmitry to deal with when he'd dashed off after Tom. He knew he should probably pull a book off one of the shelves to occupy himself, but boredom had yet to creep up on him.

With his eyes staring transfixed and somewhat out of focus at the grounds outside the window, occasionally shifting to a different spot once his sight sharpened, he let his daydreams take over. Some were simple memories of another life, how specific, key events could have played out differently, and others were idle fantasies of how he could re-shape the future. He saw Hagrid, not being expelled and graduating Hogwarts; Tom finally seeing reason about the basilisk and muggle-born situation. He imagined what life would be like living in a small London flat with Tom until better living arrangements could be made for the both of them. Radical ideas replaced foolish plans for how he could keep Voldemort from rising again; some laughably simple, others impossibly complicated.

The rays of sunlight filtering through the windowpanes and illuminating the library workstation warmed Harry where he sat. The library–like most of the castle–was never well-heated, and so the sun's rays were not unwelcome. In fact, they filled him with a drowsiness and the urge to take an afternoon catnap. So, Harry closed his eyes and let his mind wander–more so than it had previously been doing. He slowly began to bounce his leg and let his mind's inventions and illusions freely take hold of his consciousness.

It was spring, on Hogwarts' grounds, with wildflowers dotting the grassy hillside that sloped down to the Black Lake. The edge of the lawn touched the water's edge in some places, and in others tiny beaches of pebbles cut off its path. Small waves, barely an inch in height, rolled over the rocks and soaked the grass, leaving a soggy mess of mud.

Along the green, but never getting close enough to feel the water, strolled Harry, his hand clasping Ginny's delicate palm. It was a dream he'd so often entertained in years past–before Dumbledore died–and one he hadn't thought of in a long while. Happily wandering the grounds with her, not a care in the world. Voldemort was gone and his Death Eaters, captured. With her, he was just Harry.

The lake water rippled as the giant squid lazily raised a tentacle to bat at a low-flying owl.

Words were exchanged, and Ginny laughed, pulling him forward, urging him to walk faster. He complied, not letting her go even for a moment.

The image in Harry's mind blurred and refocused with the two sitting on a sizable, flat rock jutting out over the lake, with their feet dangling off the side, skimming the water with their toes. A soft breeze fluttered by, catching Ginny's hair and causing its red hue to shimmer enchantingly in the afternoon sun. It was picturesque, it was perfect, and all Harry wanted to do was kiss her, so he did.

It was sweet, it was innocent, and it turned into more. As passion overtook and hands groped with need, Harry gave into the sensations entirely, feeling his nerves alight and fizzle beneath his tingling skin. Breaking away for only a moment, he gazed adoringly at the girl he had been so in love with.

It took only a millisecond to register that, where there should be playful sienna, intense chocolate had taken its place. Where there should have been long, fiery red, there was now short, dark brown.

One thing was for sure; his conjuration was no longer Ginny.

Wrenching his eyes open, he let his head fall to the table with a dull _thud_. Why was _Tom_ popping up in such a fashion? While it was an undeniable fact of nature that the Slytherin Heir was an extremely attractive male, Harry didn't appreciate Tom's continued appearance in his dreams, whether he was actually sleeping or not.

"Um, Harry? Are you alright?"

_Bugger._ The momentary shock of seeing Tom in place of Ginny had caused Harry to forget that he was most certainly _not_ alone. That he was, rather, in the company of said boy and two others.

Blinking hard and letting out a shuddering breath he lifted his head and peered over his collapsed arm at three sets of questioning eyes.

"Yeah, fine. Completely fine," he said, carefully avoiding looking at Tom. It was Abraxas who had asked, and so he didn't necessarily _need_ to make eye contact with anyone else.

"Why'd you hit your head on the table then?" Orion asked suspiciously, obviously not believing Harry.

"Erm…" Harry's brain worked itself like a supercomputer to speedily come up with a good enough answer. "My arm fell asleep," he said with a crooked grin. "I guess I'd left it propped up too long. Once it went numb, it kind of just… collapsed." He sat himself up and gave said arm half a dozen vigorous shakes in an "attempt" to get the blood flowing again. "Sorry if I disturbed your studying…"

"It's fine," Abraxas dismissed with a sniff. "I wasn't exactly studying anyway. I know all the material already for the rest of this term–"

"And will probably study the rest of this crap over the holidays," Orion muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. Abraxas shot him a rather scathing glare, but Orion ignored it, like he always did.

"What were you thinking about that had you so deeply out of it?" Tom queried, twirling his quill and looking politely intrigued.

Harry made the mistake of looking at Tom when he started talking, and by the end of the sentence, his head had whipped around in the other direction, a fierce blush staining his cheeks.

"It wasn't anything important," he mumbled, wishing fervently he could take back his actions. _Especially_ now that Orion had a wicked grin twisting on his face.

"'Nothing,' Harry?" he repeated with a roguish sort of elation lighting his opaque eyes. "That certainly doesn't _look _like nothing, does it, 'Raxas?"

"No, it doesn't" Abraxas replied, mouth twitching desperately to keep away the grin attempting to slip forth.

"In fact, that sort of 'nothing' looks like the sort of _something_ that has to do with, say, a _girl?"_ Orion teased. "Could it be that little Harry found himself a _girl_ while he was pretending to seclude himself from the rest of humanity?"

"I did not!" Harry snapped hotly, the blush on his cheeks having diminished slightly.

"A boy then?" Tom's cold voice cut through the air, freezing Harry's blood. Did he know? How could he know? Legilimency? Was he reading Harry's mind? But… no… there hadn't been any eye contact…

"What, so just because I say I'm not thinking of a girl, it automatically means I'm thinking of a boy? Maybe I just wasn't thinking of anything." Harry said, keeping his voice deceptively calm. Apparently, though, that seemed to be the wrong thing to say since Tom's eyes narrowed dangerously into slits.

"Oho!" Orion cackled. "He doesn't deny it!"

"Didn't I just, though?" Harry snapped, not liking being the center of such unwanted attention.

"Not really," Abraxas countered with an overly amused smile.

"Why do you think I've found myself anybody? Just because my cheeks turned a bit red–"

"You lit up like a fairy decorating a Christmas tree. Like you had the _worst _sunburn," Abraxas pointed out. "Honestly, your whole face was red! It was worse than Orion when I walked in on him–"

"They don't need to know about that," Orion hastily interrupted. "And it's because I know _so_ much about how boys think of girls–"

"_Think_ because you can't actually _get,_" Abraxas quipped.

"–that the only logical reason for your reaction is because you found yourself a lady," Orion paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Or a guy. You didn't deny your desire for a guy, so I guess that means you could want–"

"Dmitry." Orion's mouth was frozen open at Tom's frosty insertion, and everyone–though Harry had been trying not to–looked to the furious teen. He was sitting rigidly in his chair, his grip on his quill tight enough to snap it if the feather wasn't charmed to be unbreakable. An angry hurricane was swirling in his eyes, and all Harry was, was confused. He remembered Dmitry's explanation about Tom's assumed jealousy of Harry's fictional relationship with the Russian, but the blonde had also said that he'd explained it all to Orion.

No–wait. He said he'd had a _talk_ with Orion, but that didn't necessarily mean he'd had the brains to fully _explain_ the situation.

"Didn't Orion tell you?" Harry cautiously asked Tom, figuring it was best to acknowledge the most irate person first.

"_Tell. Me. What?"_ Tom hissed, dangerously low, enunciating every syllable.

"Yeah, what was I supposed to have told him? Supposedly?" Orion asked nervously, edging away from Tom since he was the closest to the fuming boy.

"Didn't Dmitry tell _you?_" Harry asked incredulously, hoping against hope that Dmitry hadn't forgotten to–

"What do you mean? Tell me what?"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in disbelief. "About two days ago; the day Tom threw a fit and let loose that _thing_ again. Dmitry said he spoke to you in the common room–didn't he say _anything_ of importance?"

They all watched as Orion furrowed his brow, thinking back on his meeting with Dmitry. "No. Not really. Just wanted to know how I was, how Tom was, if I had any idea why there was an attack, and what Botolph was talking with us about."

"And that was it? He didn't, oh I don't know, explain what _actually_ happened?" Harry asked slowly, exasperated and more than a little peeved with Dmitry's denseness. He had been so worried for his well-being, yet the Russian hadn't thought to try and get the truth to Tom, via Orion.

The three upper-years were gazing at Harry; Tom and Abraxas each with an inquisitive eyebrow raised, but Tom with a still frosty glare, albeit slightly less than before.

"Is there something else we should know, Harry?" Abraxas drawled in an attempt not to appear too eager for new information. He was probably the biggest gossipmonger in the entire school; he always knew the latest scandal and never turned down a juicy piece of dirt. "A little tid-bit your roommate–" he waved a hand half-heartedly as though the other boy bore no importance at all in the bigger picture, "–left out?"

"Oh yes, the most _important_ piece." Harry leaned forward in his seat, looking dramatically around to see no one was eavesdropping. His little act had the others leaning in closer as well. Abraxas was practically salivating for what Harry was about to reveal–only, Malfoy's do not salivate in public. But his eyes were sparkling in anticipation. Harry was momentarily worried for the blonde, but he brushed it away. "Actually," he let his voice drop to a near-whisper, "what Botolph didn't know, what he couldn't possibly have known and so obviously couldn't mention…" Harry paused and bit his bottom lip to give the impression that he was hesitant to reveal his secret.

"What, what?" Abraxas prodded keenly. Harry's eyes flicked to Tom to see how the other boy was taking his diplay. Tom looked like he was torn between staying and hearing Harry out, and going off to maim or seriously injure something. Or someone.

"Well… what he couldn't know…" Harry suddenly dropped his façade and leaned back in his chair, stonily assessing the trio before him and speaking once again in normal tones. "Is that nothing happened."

He watched their reactions with a calm exterior, cackling madly on the inside.

"Wha–what do you mean _'nothing'?_" Abraxas spluttered, blinking rapidly. He had obviously been expecting something much grander. Orion probably would have teased Abraxas for losing his grace and poise in public (even if it was only between friends) but he was doing a fantastic impersonation of a goldfish. Even Tom was shocked by the news. Now _both_ his eyebrows were competing to reach his hairline and his eyes were open a bit wider. His was the only response Harry could find true disappointment in.

"Exactly how it sounded. Nothing." If there were a teacup in front of him, Harry would have taken a sip. Daintily, of course, before setting it back down and shooting them a dazzling smile that would have made Lockhart proud. Instead, he had to settle for just the smile. "You really shouldn't believe everything you hear, Abraxas. Rumors are such nasty things. You never really know what's truth in them unless you're their main star."

"But-but he said–"

"What Abraxas is trying to get out, and failing spectacularly at doing," Orion interrupted when he found his voice, "is that your roommate claimed to have found you in bed with Dmitry, naked." Abraxas' cheeks turned pink and his mouth snapped shut, but he seemed to be chewing on his tongue to keep himself from batting his own comment back at Orion. He was, afterall, exceedingly intrigued by what Harry had to say.

Harry huffed out a breath of air and held up a finger. "Fact: I was in bed with Dmitry, having fallen asleep there the previous night, and Botolph did see us together. Fact," he held up a second finger, "I was not wearing a shirt. False," a third finger went up, "neither of us were naked. I may have been topless, but I was wearing pajama bottoms. False: we didn't have sex with one another, and I don't believe we ever will, so could you _please_," he snapped turning a narrow-eyed gaze on Tom, "_stop_ looking at him like you want to rip out his spleen and feed it to a thestral. It's making _him_ paranoid which is making _me _annoyed. Very annoyed."

He stared pointedly at Tom until the older boy looked away. "I haven't any idea what you're going on about–I don't wish any ill upon Dmitry, nor have I been conveying that thought in any of my looks that happen to be directed his way." Tom sniffed. "Maybe he should see a healer for his paranoia."

"I don't know," Abraxas said thoughtfully, tapping his chin with the feathery end of his quill. "You _have_ been shooting Dmitry some dark looks these past few days… I can't honestly say I thought it _wasn't_ because of the rumor about Harry and him..."

"Yes, and wasn't that why you set the basilisk loose on the school," Orion pointed out. "Because you were in a rotten mood about the two of them?"

Tom glared daggers at the two who had just given him away. "Yes, I suppose," he said haltingly through grit teeth. "But I never planned on doing Dmitry any _grievous_ bodily harm."

The flippant way he said the second part gave Harry doubts.

"Why _were _you so upset about it anyway?" Orion asked carefully.

Tom sucked in his cheeks and Harry watched a tick work itself in the older boy's jaw. "I _assumed_ Dmitry was taking advantage of Harry, and it bothered me. A bit."

Harry felt his own mouth fall open in mild shock and outrage. "What? Why would you ever think _that_? Dmitry would _never_ take advantage of me–we're _friends_, and I seriously don't believe he has the character to take advantage of people, even if he _is _a Slytherin."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Orion said, leaning casually back in his chair and looking every bit the young lord that he was. "But don't forget, you're one too."

"That, and Dmitry _could_ take advantage of someone if he really wanted to. I've seen him do it," Abraxas added, placing both his elbows on the table and crossing his arms. "But I do agree with your statement that he wouldn't manipulate a friend, at least." His mouth turned up in a half-grin. "He isn't _that_ type of Slytherin."

Harry hummed half-heartedly and returned his gaze to the grounds out the window. A small mixed group of all the Houses seventh years had taken the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff class' place.

"Damn!"

Three sets of eyes turned once again to fall upon the youngest member of the bunch, who was now on his feet. Orion cocked his head. "Problem, Harry?"

"Class–I have class now. Transfiguration, I really shouldn't skip. Dumbledore's class and all. He'll take points or give me a detention or something."

Tom shrugged and went back to his essay. "Doesn't really matter. I've skived off the class before, quite a few times, actually."

"Everyone has," Abraxas put in.

"But… but it's O.W.L.'s year," Harry said weakly. The tests wouldn't be that much of a problem for him since he'd been through the process before. And this time he was planning on sitting through the entire History O.W.L. without falling asleep.

"Even better a reason for taking a class off, if you ask me," Orion said, grinning mischievously. "Claim the workload of all your classes combined is really getting to you, and you needed some down time to rest."

"But tomorrow's the weekend…"

"Point, please?"

"And I have Dumbledore again Monday afternoon; a double period." Harry helplessly put one hand on his hip and scratched his head with the other. "He won't forget I was absent today, and will surely question me about it."

"So lie," Tom suggested as though it were the easiest thing in the world. "Orion said it earlier, you are a _Slytherin._ Use some of your brain and devise an excuse to get you out of a punishment come Monday, because you're not going to class today."

"Why?" Harry said angrily, not liking what Tom was implying. "Because _you_ say so?"

Tom sighed and rubbed a hand down his face before looking irritatedly up. "Because I _want_ you to stay. You can go to class if you wish and sit through a boring lecture before trying to transfigure a teacup into a canary, and after you get it completely right within five go's, you can continue sitting in class, being bored out of your mind because Dumbledore won't let you work on homework for his or any other class, and you aren't allowed to leave."

Harry scowled deeply at Tom before stomping off, only to return minutes later with a heavy history textbook. He let it fall roughly onto the table and plopped back into his seat. He didn't say a word to anyone else, just opened it up to a random page and began reading. Binns was the history teacher in this time too, and just as boring, so studying on his own would be the only way Harry'd ever get usable history knowledge for his O.W.L.'s.

By efficiently ignoring everyone else at the table, he subsequently missed the twin grins Abraxas and Orion threw each other, and the soft smile Tom sent his way.

Later that evening, when the quartet had reached the entrance hall on their way to dinner, Harry, who had been walking a bit ahead of the others, was assaulted. Or, rather, a body moving at a very high velocity slammed into his side, knocking him over a few steps. He would have fallen to the ground, had not the arms accompanying the body wrapped around him, steadying him. Dazed by the impact, when he turned his head to identify the human, he found it to be Dmitry. Not that Harry was really surprised. He didn't know anyone else who would run the risk of knocking into him in such a fashion.

"Oh, Harry, I was so worried!" Dmitry exclaimed, hugging the small body encased in his arms tighter. "You took off like that in the middle of our game, and never showed up to class–I thought you had been petrified for sure!" Harry struggled to free himself from the increasingly constricting grip. "Why else would you be absent, especially when you wouldn't let me skiv off class _this morning?"_ Dmitry ended in an evil growl.

"Erm, Dmitry, are you sure he can breath?" Orion asked, watching, interestedly, as Harry's face began to turn blue. Dmitry let Harry go with an exaggerated huff, and Harry began to cough as air returned to his lungs.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Harry." Dmitry crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air in a haughty impersonation of Abraxas. "I never thought you to be the hypocritical sort."

"It's not like I was planning on it," the bespectacled boy rasped, rubbing his chest. "Time just got away from me, and then I tried to go, but Tom guilted me into staying."

"Excuse me? I don't remember any guilting going on upstairs, do you, Abraxas?" Tom asked, superciliously.

"Certainly not," Abraxas replied in exactly the same fashion, and the two of them swept past a glowering Harry and a dumbfounded Dmitry, but the Malfoy scion threw the Russian a wink as he passed.

"What was–when did you–I'm confused," was all Dmitry managed to get out.

Harry rolled his eyes and continued on into the Great Hall. "Come on, I'll explain it later." He heard Orion and Dmitry fall into step behind him, and couldn't suppress the smirk that grew on his face when Orion said, "So, Dmitry. What's this I hear about you suppressing certain information that would be healthier for the entire _world_ to know?"

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

The weekend passed much the same as it always did, with the only exception being the clusters of students that moved around together, frightened that they would be chosen as the Heir's next target. It was silly, really, that the half-bloods and purebloods were also wandering the castle in such a manner, but Harry chalked it up to ignorance on their part. Maybe not everyone was aware that muggle-borns were the only targets? He did, on the other hand, give a small bit of respect to the muggle-borns who _had_ seemed to realize that fact, and had at least one pure-blood traveling with them, believing they would be safe with one of them in their group.

Under the layer of fear that had settled over the castle, a buzz of excitement began to stir as the Christmas holidays grew closer. There were only two weeks left before most of the student population would be returning home for a couple of weeks to enjoy a short period of vacation with no studying. A minor bit of anxiousness and apprehension popped up in students who were grade-obsessive–because of the tests some teachers gave before the start of the break–but they were mostly ignored.

With the Sunday morning post came invitations to a select few for Slughorn's annual Christmas party. Tom, Abraxas and Orion each received a gaudily decorated letter–as they had every year–and Harry, for the first time, got one too. Dmitry had sulked and complained about his absence of an invite as the two left breakfast.

"It's not fair," he had whined to Harry as the bespectacled boy read the loopy script that gave the illusion of grandeur. "How come _I'm_ not invited? I know Slughorn's little 'Club' is supposed to be _incredibly_ exclusive, but still… I mean, my uncle _is_ the Russian ambassador, after all…"

"He invites Abraxas and Orion because they're from old Pureblood families and he thinks they'll be useful to him in the future," Harry had stated simply, folding his letter and placing it in his pocket as the pair had made their way back down to their dungeon common room. "He invites Tom because the prat has his head so far up every teachers arse that they'd literally do _anything_ for him–with the exception of Dumbledore–and since he likes people to think he's important enough to get an invitation, he somehow manages to worm one out of Slughorn every year. You've witnessed firsthand how Tom just turns on the charm and easily gets whatever he wants. Hell, he could probably charm the Queen out of her jewels over tea and biscuits."

"And you?" Dmitry asked, lips twitching into a smile. "Why have you been invited?"

"Honestly, I have no idea and am slightly worried for my chastity. I'll have to stick close to the others all night." Dmitry laughed and Harry smiled, glad that he was able to better his friend's sour mood. "It says we can I can bring a date, if I choose," he continued, half-jogging down the dungeon steps. "You want to be mine?"

Dmitry snorted. "I don't think Tom will like that."

"Sod what Tom thinks about it; you're my friend, you want to go, and this is a way for you to attend." Harry rolled his eyes. "You shouldn't live your life by whatever Tom dictates; you want to go to Slughorn's party? Come as my date. It's not as if we'll be grinding up against each other and practically dry humping on the dance floor–I'm not planning on dancing at all, in fact. I'm terrible at it. 'Date' is just the official term, but you're really just coming as my guest, my friend, like it says on the letter." He paused both in speech and movement, and stared thoughtfully at one of the flickering torches lighting the way for a moment. "Besides, it's not like the invitation specifically stated that I had to escort a girl with me if I wanted to bring someone along."

He made to continue walking, but two arms wrapping around him from behind and crushing the life out of him hindered his process forward.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Dmitry chanted like a mantra.

"Can't–breath!" Harry gasped, and after one more extra tight squeeze, he was released. Breathing deeply, he turned to glare at Dmitry for trying to kill him through a hug, _again_, but couldn't really muster up any power behind it at the sheer exuberance the Russian was emanating. An ear-slitting grin threatened to tear the blonde's face and his entire being seemed to be vibrating in anticipation.

"I always wanted to go to one of Slughorn's parties!" Dmitry said delightedly, eyes crinkled in excitement. "They're _always_ the talk of the school and those who go are always envy of all who don't attend. Abraxas and Orion always come back bragging about how they just met the Minister of Magic, or shared a joke with the captain of one Quidditch team or another!" Dmitry laughed gaily and clapped his hands together. "I really don't know how I can thank you enough!"

Harry gave a half-shrug and turned around, thankful that the dimly like corridor hid his pink cheeks well. "You don't have to do anything, we're friends. If I want to do something for one of my friends, I will. You don't have to feel like you owe me anything for it."

"Oh, but I want to give you something as an expression of my thanks," Dmitry countered, catching up and slinging an arm over Harry's shoulders. "Because you're my friend and I like to give my friends things, not because I feel as though I owe them something, but because they are my friends."

He hummed a tune under his breath as they wandered through the labyrinth that was the Hogwarts dungeon. "I've got it!" Dmitry said suddenly, turning his head to face Harry with an expression that brought an image of an overeager puppy to Harry's mind. "You can come with me back to Russia this Christmas break! My parents and I always go back to visit my relatives that stayed–you'll love it there, it's like a winter wonderland." His smile, which Harry didn't think was possible, grew brighter at the prospect. "No one would mind if you came, there's always plenty of room at Volynski Manor. My Babushka loves throwing the most extravagant parties, and there are always people coming and going."

Harry nibbled on his bottom lip, thinking of how wonderful visiting Russia with Dmitry sounded but knowing that he'd have to let his friend down. "I'm sorry," he said, meaning it completely. "I want to go, it sounds like the best thing I've ever heard, but Tom–I always stay here with Tom for the holidays. His birthday is the last day of December, and we always do something special, together, to celebrate it, and since things are on the mend between us at the moment, I don't think it would be a good idea to up and leave him here alone, if you know what I mean."

Dmitry's face fell, but only for a split second before lighting up again. "That's right, I understand. Then, if you can't come this winter, come during summer break. Tom can tag along as well, and maybe Orion and Abraxas will be able to visit. Though, the Blacks usually spend a part of their summer holed up in their Russian home anyway, sparing no expense on their balls and posh dinners… It would be really fun! Please, _please_ say you'll come?" Dmitry widened his eyes and stuck out his bottom lip, and Harry caved, laughing at the comical expression.

"Alright, I'll come, and I'll talk Tom into coming as well. I've never been out of the country and I think it would be nice to spend the summer away from London."

Dmitry whooped and pulled Harry into another, less tight, quick hug. "Excellent! You'll be able to meet my family! They've heard so much about you, my cousins are always asking to meet you–they've already met Orion at one of the gala's we were invited to thrown by his parents. My cousin Anzhelika especially wants to meet you," he finished with a wink. Harry gaped.

"What _have_ you been telling your family about me?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Dmitry said mysteriously. "Quintaped." And the blank, stone wall before them shimmered away to reveal the entrance to their common room.

Monday morning, Harry woke with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. It took him a long moment to figure out why he would wake up feeling such unease until he remembered his upcoming double period of Transfiguration. He groaned, and rolled over in bed, wishing terribly that something, _anything_ would happen to delay the inevitable conversation he'd have with Dumbledore pertaining to his absence the previous class. He wasn't looking forward to the detention he knew he'd be receiving.

The day seemed to pass by in a whirlwind of activity, no matter how much Harry tried to slow it down. Unfortunately, simply hoping and wishing for something doesn't make it happen. Lunch ended and, sooner than he would have appreciated, Harry was trudging sullenly into the Transfiguration classroom. He was sure not to make eye contact with the professor, even though he could practically _feel_ Dumbledore's ice-blue eyes burning holes into him. He took a seat in the middle row of the class, but off to the side.

"Oh, Dumbledore doesn't look pleased to see you," Dmitry muttered, plopping down next to Harry and letting his bag fall to the floor.

"Maybe I should have feigned illness," Harry suggested, still not looking up at the teacher.

"Nah, it would have been so much worse if you did that," Dmitry pointed out. "Just deal with this class and take your punishment with dignity. No use begging it off or making excuses, causing you to fall into disgrace."

Harry sighed, knowing Dmitry was right, but didn't reply. The bell to signal the start of class rang and Dumbledore launched into a lecture that was really just a rehashing of what they'd done the past few classes. Eventually, he magicked the chalk to write instructions on the blackboard at the front of the room and passed out glass orbs no bigger than two of Harry's fists put together, and told them to turn the spheres into parakeets.

"This is what we were doing last class," Dmitry informed Harry as the Russian idly rolled his orb around on their shared desk. "It was pretty tricky, not a lot of people got it at all. He probably just wants to see how many people actually _practiced_ the homework. I'll help you if you need it, since I was one of the few who got it."

"I'm good, thanks," Harry replied with a shake of his head. "You told me about the lesson Friday night and I studied it on my own. I think I'll be able to manage when Dumbeldore comes by."

That was one of the reasons why Harry liked sitting somewhere around the middle of the class. Dumbledore usually wandered the rows of students, having them perform the spell for him and giving advice where it was needed. By placing himself in the middle of the group, it gave Harry time to practice his work before Dumbledore got to him–unlike those in row one–without him finishing too fast and getting bored–like the students in the back rows sometimes did.

He and Dmitry took turns between each other transfiguring their orbs into parakeets and back again as they waited for Dumbledore to arrive.

"Ah, Mr. Volynski," Dumbledore greeted when he reached their table. "You were one of the few who were able to complete a successful transfiguration last class, I believe. If you would kindly show that your skill has not waned?"

Dmitry flashed the professor a polite smile and did as he was told, easily changing the sphere's rounded shape into that of a green and yellow bird.

"Fantastic," Dumbledore acknowledged, sticking out his hand for the bird to hop onto. It did, with a flutter of wings and a musical _chirp._ "Yes, very nice. Five points to Slytherin." The pair of Gryffindors sitting to Dmitry's left scowled at the fact that he had been able to easily change his orb, gaining points, and they had not. Dumbledore handed the parakeet back to Dmitry and looked to Harry. The aforementioned boy noticed a definite frostiness overtake Dumbledore's features as the professor laid eyes on him.

"And Mr. Evans," Dumbledore said in a less friendly tone. "You weren't here last class, but I have no doubt that because you missed it you rightfully questioned Mr. Volynski on the material and studied over the weekend." The oldened man glanced down at Harry's orb. "Your turn, if you please."

Harry took a deep, calming breath and confidently raised his wand, moving it in just the right way and clearly stating the incantation. Just like Dmitry's had, Harry's sphere morphed into a fluttering parakeet, only his was completely green without a hint of the decorative yellow of Dmitry's. Dumbledore held out his hand once again and Harry's bird hopped on. Bringing it up to his face for inspection, Dumbledore hummed to himself and said, "Hm, yes, yes I can see that you did indeed study. Of course, it's what you naturally should have done since you missed the last class." He handed the bird back and addressed both boys. "Since both of you have been able to transfigure your orbs into parakeets, you may turn to page five-eighty-three in the text and practice turning it into other tropical avifauna. The wand movement is the same, as you will see in your books, but the incantations for each species differs slightly. Carry on." With that, he moved on to the next pair.

"He really must be mad at you," Dmitry whispered amongst the chirps of other birds belonging to students who had also achieved their transfiguration goal. "He didn't even give you a point! Oh I definitely pity you for whatever punishment you're going to get…"

The two spent the rest of the class changing their parakeets into Guardabarranco's (a choice of Dmitry's) with the only excitement being when one of the girl's in the back row turned her orb into a pair of squawking flamingos; how, Harry was unsure.

"That's it for today, class," Dumbledore called out when the end of the period drew near. "For those of you who weren't able to get it, continue trying on your own time. I want a foot-long essay on my desk at the beginning of next class on at least five different bird species that can be created from the wand movement of this spell, why and how they can be useful, and the incantation to go with it. There will be a test, both written and practical, on what we've learned so far next week, so study hard. Mr. Evans, if you would please stay behind."

Dmitry dragged his feet as the rest of the class scampered out of the room, and threw Harry one last encouraging look before the door shut behind him.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore had all the changed orbs sailing across the room and into the box he'd originally produced them from and, although he was not summoned with a spell, Harry too approached the man's desk.

"You wanted me to stay behind, professor?" Harry started, respectfully. He might not be particularly fond of the man, but Dumbledore was still his Transfiguration professor, and it wouldn't do to insult the man who controlled his grade.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Evans." Dumbledore sat down behind his desk and steepled his fingers, peering at Harry over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "You were not in my class last Friday, and I received no note from our resident Healer nor another faculty member excusing your absence. Care to explain yourself?"

"The only excuse I have for my absence, sir, is that I was caught up in another activity, since I don't have a class before this one on Fridays, and lost track of time. I apologize for my mistake and it won't happen again." Many a Hogwarts student had skipped out on a class or two or twenty in their time at the school, and as far as Harry knew, Dumbledore was the only teacher who made a big deal about when someone missed his class. He was the only teacher who actively attempted to locate where the students in question had been if not in Transfiguration.

"See that it doesn't," Dumbledore said with a stern nod. There was a pause in the conversation and Harry waited for the teacher to name his punishment. "Although, that was very dangerous of you, Mr. Evans."

"Yes, sir, I accept–what?" Harry was thrown for a complete loop. Where had that come from? What danger was Dumbledore talking about?

"The attacks on the students of this school," Dumbledore explained, noting Harry's confusion and expanding on his meaning. "With you not in class, where you were supposed to have been, it could have resulted in you being petrified and left up in the hospital wing like the other three students."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, shocked and unsure how to respond. "I–I doubt that would have happened sir."

"Oh?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "And why not?"

"I was in the library. There are other people in the library, and Madame Pince. I don't think I would have been attacked there."

"No, no I suppose not," Dumbledore conceded. "But there's no telling what could have happened to you on your way to or from the library. And since you were supposed to be in my class, if you had been petrified, it would have been my responsibility. When a student is supposed to be in Transfiguration, they are my responsibility, unless they have been excused."

"I didn't mean for you to get in trouble if something had happened to me," Harry said, not quite believing what he was told. Since he was in the library, if something _had_ happened to him, it would have been Madame Pince's problem, he thought. "But if you really think I could have been attacked in the halls, then isn't it unsafe for anyone to go anywhere unaccompanied? Maybe you should have someone look into it, if you think the attacker is that big of a threat."

Dumbledore nodded his head once. "That's true, and I'm glad you agree that there should be some sort of investigation into the matter." Dumbledore's eyes narrowed minutely. "However, I find it peculiar how, while the rest of the school is in a near-panicked state, you seem to find the time to calmly waltz through the corridors, undeterred."

Harry couldn't help but look at the man as if he had gone senile. Was he really implying what Harry thought he was? Where was his proof? _This is ridiculous…_

"Professor, I'm not the only student who goes around school by themselves, and I'm not the only student who's skipped out on a class since this whole business with the Chamber of Secrets began."

Bowing his head vaguely in agreement, Dumbledore continued, "No, you certainly aren't." Realizing that Harry wasn't going to give up any information he might know easily, Dumbledore tried changing tactics. "I see you're speaking with Tom again. Your friendship seemed to take a turn for the worst right after the first attack, and was rekindled after the third. That's quite the coincidence, isn't it?"

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I don't appreciate your insinuations, and if you continue, I'll be forced to take it up with Professor Slughorn and Headmaster Dippet," he snapped forcefully.

Fury flashed in Dumbledore's eyes and the corners of his mouth tightened. "I am Deputy Headmaster at this school and am trying to protect the students because Professor Dippet refuses to take any action that might notify the press. If you know something, Mr. Evans, it is your duty to let me or one of the other professors know as well. "

"Well, I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know anything more than what the rest of the school does." He stared down at the man he'd once seen as a grandfather with hardened eyes. "Is that all?"

A long, tense silence passed between the two of them, neither blinking, and Harry staring at a spot on Dumbledore's forehead so the man wouldn't even be able to _try_ legilimency. "Ten points from Slytherin," Dumbledore finally said, "for being absent without legitimate excuse from class, and detention tomorrow night with Professor Kettleburn, I think. He's going into the Forbidden Forest for one reason or another, and I'm sure he could use an extra pair of eyes and hands."

"Yes, sir." The detention in the Forest brought back memories of his previous excursions into the dense thicket of trees. _At least this time there's no Voldemort or colony of Acromantula, though._

"You'll meet him in the entrance hall at eight o'clock sharp. Don't be late." Dumbledore sent one final glare Harry's way before excusing the boy, who got out of there as fast as his legs would take him, while not degrading himself to something like running. It wouldn't do to be seen running away from Dumbledore's classroom. That was how rumors were founded and Dumbledore would be hailed as a martyr for scaring Slytherins by the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.

As he passed a tapestry two corridors away that depicted a treaty signing between the Goblin nation and Wizardkind, a hand shot out and pulled him through it. Harry was a hairs-breath from cursing his attacker when he recognized the face of Dmitry.

"What's wrong with you, pulling people through tapestries?" he said instead, brushing non-existent dirt from his robes.

"Come on," Dmitry said, choosing to ignore Harry's question and walk down the passage hidden from the rest of the school. Harry knew it was there, of course, thanks to many-a-night pouring over the Marauders Map, and followed the other boy, grumbling the entire time under his breath. They emerged from behind a shadowed suit of armor one floor up, and many classrooms away from Dumbledore's. "So what happened?" Dmitry asked, sliding down the wall into a sitting position. "How hard did he hit you?"

"He didn't 'hit' me at all," Harry replied, settling down next to the other boy in the abandoned section of the castle.

"It's a figure of speech."

"I don't think it is…"

"Whatever," Dmitry said, waving a hand uncaringly. "Just tell me what happened."

"Short story shorter, I've got detention with Kettleburn tomorrow at eight, Slytherin's down ten points, and he believes I know something about the attacks and am withholding information."

Dmitry's eyes widened and Harry easily detected the fear that was there. Fear for what, exactly, he wasn't quite sure of, though. "Did you say anything?"

"I thanked him for the detention," Harry retorted sarcastically.

Dmitry knocked him with his shoulder. "Not about _that_, about the Chamber." His voice dropped to a whisper even though there wasn't even a portrait around to hear them speak.

"I'm not stupid," Harry said shortly. "Even if Tom and I still weren't speaking I wouldn't rat him out like that. It wouldn't be good for any of you, and there would probably be some interrogations with Veritaserum involved." Harry blew away a bit of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. "And what would that say about me if I told what I know _now_ after _three_ attacks? I'd probably be interrogated as well, the entire school would find out, and I'd be shunned by my peers, and more importantly, my friends, whom I would have betrayed completely by giving them away to Dumbledore." He looked over at Dmitry and smiled tiredly. "I'm not that kind of person."

Dmitry let out a long breath of air that he'd been holding in and chuckled nervously. "Today has been a long day."

"'Long day,' what are _you_ griping about?" Harry shoved Dmitry and the boy fell over onto the stone floor. "'Long day,' what have _you_ been through, huh? _I_ had a stand-off with Dumbledore, _I_ got detention, _you_ sat around on your arse without a care in the world and earned some points back."

"Yes, and none of that would have happened had you not skipped class on Friday," Dmitry retorted cheekily from where he lay on the floor. Harry swatted the Russian's leg and the boy made a noise of pain.

"That_ hurt."_

"Did not, I barely touched you."

"I bet you've left a mark."

"Bet I haven't."

"I'm telling Tom that you've succumbed to violence."

"Don't give him ideas."

The two looked at each other in absolute seriousness. It didn't take long though for them to break out into sidesplitting peals of laughter, and Harry felt his worries and burdens lift weightlessly from his shoulders. _Laughter really is the best medicine._

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Tom was absolutely livid when he heard the full and complete story of what had transpired between Harry and Dumbledore. It took all Harry, Dmitry, Abraxas, and Orion's efforts to calm him down and keep him from releasing the basilisk directly on Dumbledore with an order to eat, not simply petrify.

Because he was admittedly concerned that Tom might snap and go back on his promise to leave the Chamber entrance closed and Dumbledore alone, Harry took to staying very near the older boy for the rest of the week. It reminded him of their childhood spent together at the orphanage, glued to each other's side, and how life at Hogwarts had been prior to that year. They had always done everything together, gone everywhere together, and just been all around extremely close. It seemed like Harry once again being almost-constantly around him brought something of the old Tom back out–an occurrence that made Harry rather excited. The older boy was smiling more and less turned in on himself. Orion and Abraxas seemed to appreciate the reversion of Tom's attitude as well, and a happiness that hadn't been there in months once again took root around the trio of sixth years.

Dmitry was just glad Tom's thoughts had turned away from mutilating or murdering his person.

Even Harry's detention with Professor Kettleburn hadn't been that bad. It turned out there had been a sickly thestral foal that needed tending to, and all Kettleburn had needed was for Harry to help distract the older thestrals with plenty of raw meat and wrap the bandages on the foal when the time came. There had been a bit of an unpleasant moment when Professor Kettleburn realized Harry could actually _see_ the thestrals, but with a hurried, "I don't remember," to the question of whom he'd seen die, the situation was happily glossed over.

The week went by pleasantly for just about everyone in the castle, and Saturday brought excitement for Dmitry.

"Slughorn's party is tomorrow, oh I don't know if I have anything to wear–what do you think of this, Harry?"

It was Saturday morning and Harry was currently lying on his stomach, on his bed, flicking absentmindedly through a book on dragon handling. Dmitry was flitting all about the room, grabbing robes from his trunk and holding them up to the floor-length mirror in the other corner of the room before throwing the outfit away and rushing over to find a new one. The rest of their roommates had long since abandoned the dorm.

Glancing up from the roaring picture of a Hebridean Black, Harry took in the deep purple, velvet robes with lace trim. "I liked the blue-violet ones better. Slughorn likes purple a lot, at the moment. You don't want to accidently match with him, do you?"

Dmitry made a face and immediately tossed the robes he was holding to the side and grabbed the ones Harry had suggested. He held them up in front of his body and gazed at himself in the mirror. "Are you sure about these though? I mean, I have a lot of others that aren't in purple, and these aren't that flattering when I put them on…"

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed a hand down his face. He was beginning to wish he hadn't invited Dmitry to Slughorn's party. If he had known he'd have to sit through hours of Dmitry playing dress-up…

"Harry, are you paying attention?"

Harry groaned and let his head fall onto the covered mattress. "Merlin, what's so difficult about choosing what to wear to Slughorn's party? It's not like you're going to meet the Queen."

"You never know who might show up," Dmitry chastised. "I don't want to turn up looking like a frumpy homeless person and it turns out the editor of the _Daily Prophet_ is there. _What_ an embarrassment that would be," he finished with a chuckle.

"I doubt you could ever look 'frumpy,' Dmitry," Harry said, though it was muted somewhat by his arm that had been under him when he collapsed. "Not with all your expensive robes…"

The door opened and Harry's head shot up, hoping for salvation. He was not disappointed. In waltzed Abraxas and Orion looking every bit as wealthy as Dmitry hoped to the next night.

"What a delightful color," Abraxas remarked, moving to effectively block Harry from Dmitry's sight.

"Yes, but didn't you wear those to my cousin's birthday ball last August?" Orion put in thoughtfully.

"See, Harry!" Dmitry exclaimed in a half-wail. "I absolutely can't wear these now! Not if someone will recognize that I've worn them recently!" He practically dove, distraught, into his trunk, rummaging for something he could wear instead. While he was distracted, Orion and Abraxas each grabbed Harry by an arm and dragged him across the room, shoving him out and closing the door behind his disoriented form. Harry did note, however, that when he was tossed so unceremoniously from his dorm, he happened to run into a taller body and said body was currently helping him from tripping over his own feet.

"Careful, there."

Harry looked up, one hand clutching the material of the taller person's robes to keep himself upright. "Tom!" he blurted out. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving you, it would seem, from a rather untimely death by stairs," the older boy said with a small smile. "And instructing Abraxas, who loves this sort of thing, to take over where you're failing with Dmitry. Orion, being Abraxas' very close friend for many years, is quite used to the lives of the fashion forward we find so tedious, and has elected to stay in there as a third opinion."

"Thanks," was all Harry's flabbergasted mind was able to come up with.

"It's nothing." Tom released Harry, stepping away and heading up the steps. He halted as they turned, about to go out of view. "Walk with me?"

Harry followed without saying anything and the two climbed to the common room. A scattering of Slytherins were sitting around doing homework or gossiping, but Tom passed them all by, heading straight out the exit into the drafty dungeon.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked when the wall had closed.

"Outside. It's snowed again."

The two walked the halls in companionable silence, passing no students until they reached the entrance hall. There was a low rumble of noise emanating from the Great Hall, but that was because so many students and teachers alike were fond of sleeping in on the weekends and enjoying a late breakfast. Harry hadn't been privy to that choice, though, since Dmitry had woken him up at an ungodly hour because a pimple had sprung up on the tip of his nose. It's brightness had given him the look of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer from a Christmas special Harry had seen in the nineties, and all he'd done was laugh. Which might have been why Dmitry was torturing him with an exclusive showing of the Russian's entire wardrobe.

They crossed the threshold of the castle and trudged through the snow, still without exchanging any words. They gave a snowball fight being led by a few Gryffindor sixth years against the Ravenclaw beaters wide berth, circling around them until they had reached the edge of the Forest. For a moment, Harry thought they would continue their journey into the woods, but when they reached the trees, Tom made an abrupt ninety-degree turn, walking instead along its edge.

Harry trailed a few paces behind; scanning the white blanket winter left spread over the spacious grounds. Other than those partaking in the snowball fight, not many people were outside at the moment, and when Harry and Tom followed a bend in the tree line, they were completely obscured from view. The silence between them left Harry feeling nervous and fidgety. It wasn't awkward, but he felt a pressure on his shoulders to say something–to do _something_.

Emerald eyes locked on the ground and a wicked grin spread across his face. Later, he would claim inspiration from the Gryffindor's they passed, but only to himself, for no _real _self-respecting Slytherin would _ever_ admit to being influenced by a Gryffindor; even if they used to be one.

Harry stooped quickly and scooped a large handful of snow up into his ungloved hands. He felt them instantly begin to numb with cold and knew he should finish up quickly.

After years of practice making snowballs for the annual fights the Weasley brood and he would engage in, it was only a matter of seconds before a perfectly sculpted spherical ball of powdery snow was cupped delicately in his hands. He drew his right arm back, took aim, and fired.

_Splat_.

The projectile stayed true to its course and hit its target dead center. Tom stumbled forward–flakes of white now clinging to the back of his dark curls–and swirled around to glare at a laughing Harry. The younger boy was so overcome with giggles that he was using the trunk of one or the trees to keep himself upright, with both arms wrapped around his stomach as he gasped for air. He didn't think he and Tom had ever thrown snowballs at each other. Yes, Harry had talked Tom into making a snowman each year at the orphanage, and yes he'd convinced Tom to make snow-angels once, but the older boy had never succumbed to Harry's pleas to engage in the barbaric sport of an actual snowball fight.

And seeing Tom stumble with his arms pinwheeling to keep his balance was just too much for Harry's sleep-deprived mind to take. He couldn't help but dissolve into laughter.

Tom's eyes narrowed in contemplation before flicking up to the branch above the other boy. If Harry had been paying attention, he would have noticed the nefarious smirk Tom now sported and the snow he had magically procured. With a simple flick of the wrist and aim that must have come from his years of spell-practice, an entire pile of snow that had been resting in the branches above Harry plummeted down to earth and landed on the younger's head, effectively shutting him up.

Tom tried to control it, he really did, but he couldn't stop the amused snort that escaped his lips, followed by a cascade of chuckles. Harry was standing frozen, his eyes bugged out and his mouth open in an 'O'. There was a miniature mountain of snow atop his head and a little hill on each shoulder, not to mention the bits clinging sporadically to the rest of him. Tom held up a clothed hand to cover his mouth in a vain attempt to hide his mirth.

It didnt work. Harry's eyes became slits and he clenched his jaw.

"Tom," he growled out, the only warning he would give for what was about to take place, and Tom could contain his laughter no longer. It was the growling that did it, really. It added onto Harry's whole wet-cat look that he'd taken on as the snow had begun to melt.

Harry's eye twitched and he gracelessly stumbled out of the entrapment of snow surrounding his legs up to his knees. One step towards the other boy, and Tom had turned and taken off, laughing the whole time. It was this carefree behavior that turned the corners of Harry's mouth up into a smile and brought sounds of happiness from him as well. When was the last time they had acted so free around one another? Harry couldn't even remember. It was brilliant for him to see Tom act so untroubled and unlike his usual brooding self.

He was gaining on the older Slytherin, who was hindered by the deep snow, and when he was within arms reach, Harry made a grab at the other boy's back.

Tom tripped at the touch and Harry, who hadn't slowed, slammed into him. Their legs became tangled in a flurry to each regain their balance, and they tumbled down into the snow with shouts of surprise.

Harry groaned at the slight ache his body felt when he tried to move. There wasn't any serious damage done, but there would probably be a bruise somewhere later. He was a bit more worried for Tom's possible injuries, though, since he had cushioned Harry's fall.

He easily moved his hands to rest on either side of Tom's body and lifted his upper half to peer down at the older boy. He opened his mouth and his question caught in his throat.

The eyes of the boy beneath him were hooded, having shut completely when his head made contact with the ground. Luckily, the snow had kept most of the damage that could have been done at bay, but the shock was still there. His breathing was heavy from having run and his mouth was parted as little pants of white air escaped.

It was good no one was watching; it was good no one could see. Because something in Harry snapped, and he leaned down and touched the soft lips that had haunted his dreams with his own.

He kissed Tom.


	10. Chapter 10

_A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous_. –Ingrid Bergman

Everyone feared there would be an attack that weekend. A period of two weeks had passed between each of the three attacks, and since another two had gone by, it was only logical for the population at Hogwarts to assume the culprit would follow their previously laid-out pattern and petrify another student. The more apprehensive students–which consisted mainly of the lower years–tried to pass nearly the entire weekend away in their common rooms–venturing out only when it was time for meals. The rest, who were less weary but cautious all the same, weren't afraid to wander the castle and snow-covered grounds ; though, you never saw a student who wasn't a Slytherin pureblood or courageous Gryffindor upper-year, alone. The tenseness of the staff didn't help the castle's overall atmosphere as they watched their pupils with eagle-eyes, ready to pounce on whomever looked to be starting trouble.

However, what no one in the school could have possibly known was that the probability of an attack that particular weekend, was at absolute zero.

Because, as it happened, on that particular Saturday afternoon, Slytherin's heir was too busy scouring the castle in search of the boy who had kissed him in the snow and then run off as though the hounds of Hell were snapping at his heels.

Truth be told, Tom hadn't actually _planned_ on what had happened happening. He had been in a state of stupefaction once Harry's lips had touched his. All he'd wanted was to "rescue" the younger boy from Dmitry's clutches, and he'd only thought to bring Harry outside because it had snowed.

Harry loved the snow.

He hadn't intended to retaliate to Harry's snowball with an attack of his own. He hadn't planned on Harry chasing him, for them both to fall, for the younger boy to–

Not that he _really_ minded. It was a delicious secret he'd always kept to himself for fear that Harry would leave him, disgusted with his _unnatural_ thoughts. It had terrified Tom that one day Harry _would_ find out, that he _wouldn't_ understand, and Tom would once again be all alone. Sure, he'd have Abraxas and Orion–as long as Harry told no one, or the two simply didn't care–but neither of them would be able to fill the giant void Harry would certainly leave behind.

Tom checked the path from the Great Hall to the library with incredible thoroughness, poking his head into every classroom–used or unused–and even going so far as to make a quick stop off at the Hospital Wing. The process was slow and extremely frustrating. More than once the Slytherin sixth-year had wished he had a map of the castle that could just show him wherever Harry was hiding.

After agitatedly pursuing the entire first four floors of the castle, Tom stopped and leaned against a random wall for a bit of a break. It was time to use his hibernating brain and actually _think_ of the most probable places Harry could be rather than searching the _entire_ castle. Not only was it gargantuan in size, but the younger boy could have been continuously moving and stopped off at a place Tom had already checked.

Letting out an aggravated growl, Tom began to mentally list all the places Harry _might_ be, followed by all the best hiding spots in Hogwarts that he knew of. There was the library, the dungeons, the owlry, the dungeons, the kitchen, another House's common room, the dungeons…

Tom's blood froze as he was coming up with ideas as a new prospect wormed its way into his train of thought. What if Harry hadn't meant it? What if it was just a random kiss, spurred by the moment? Those types of things occasionally happened. It could even have been that the kiss was meant in merely a friendly sort of way, and the reason Harry had run off was because he'd been embarrassed that it had connected with Tom's lips rather than the older boy's cheek or forehead. Harry had sometimes joked in the past that the two of them were closer than brothers, and Tom had heard that it wasn't uncommon for family members to give each other innocent kisses from time to time. In fact, Orion's older sister did it every time the young Black left for Hogwarts at the beginning of each year…

No, Tom wouldn't accept it. Harry _hadn't_ meant it in a familial way, he was positive. He was _convinced._ And if Harry tried to play the kiss off as something else, he wouldn't believe it. He'd extract the truth from the younger boy, even if it was doing its damndest to stay covered in the dark. Tom had been waiting years for Harry, having become suspicious of his unusual feelings for the younger boy at age thirteen, and when he'd turned fourteen, he'd known for sure.

But now was not the time to think of that. First, he had to find Harry, and the best place to look seemed to be the dungeons. There were an abundance of unused classrooms down in the dank maze underneath Hogwarts, any one of them a splendid place to hide from someone. Tom was sure that's what Harry was doing, and even though he had to go back the way he came, he could make a pit-stop at the kitchens and inquire within to see if the house-elves knew anything.

_Actually,_ he thought as he hurried back the way he came, _maybe the best course of action is to simply ask an elf to find him for me…_

"Tom!" Sucking in his cheeks and closing his eyes, Tom counted to ten, _very slowly_ in his head to calm down. It wouldn't do to curse the girl into oblivion for the interruption; she didn't know any better. He also didn't want Harry to become angry with him for behaving impulsively, and he knew that's just what Harry would do if Tom inflicted and sort of damage on the approaching female.

Amaryllis Lacoursiere was probably the prettiest girl at Hogwarts, but that was due in part to her mother being half-veela. The rest of her good looks, she received from her father, who was quite the looker himself. Tom had the impromptu pleasure of meeting the man on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at the end of last term. Amaryllis just _had_ to introduce her parents to the boy whom she'd set her sights on, but that wasn't an uncommon occurrence for him either. Many females at Hogwarts desired him, though Tom thought they were all somewhat featherbrained and should spend more time studying their _atrocious_ spellwork rather than gazing wistfully after him wherever he went. Unfortunately, that was the price one paid for being incredibly handsome, wonderfully intelligent, and a splendidly smooth-talker, even if it was all false praise. One needed to keep up appearances if they wanted to get anywhere in life, and you always caught more flies with honey than with vinegar, Miss Hallwicke, one of the teachers at Tom's muggle school, had told him one day after he'd made another boy cry by insulting the child's artistic abilities. Tom hadn't expected the other boy to be so sensitive–not that he _really_ cared–but had taken his teacher's words to heart when he'd arrived at Hogwarts, and his dealing with other people had become much easier.

Amaryllis caught up to Tom, who hadn't really slowed when she called out, and flashed him a dazzling smile, her long, near-white, platinum blonde hair flowing behind her in soft waves.

"We haven't spoken in a long while, how have you been?" she asked, her words tinted with the barest hint of a French accent.

"Alright," Tom answered civilly. "And you?" He didn't wish for the conversation to continue on, but he had an image to uphold.

Amaryllis let out a tinkling laugh that might have easily ensnared a more common man, but all it did was force Tom to count again. "I have been enjoying myself well. It is difficult, though, to soothe the worries of the younger students in my House. Being a prefect can be terribly tedious at times, don't you agree."

"It can, but the benefits outweigh the unpleasantness."

"Yes, I do so love the bathroom allowed only to us." She sighed and glanced at Tom out of the corner of her eye. "But still, one would think that, having been sorted into Ravenclaw, they would be able to figure out for themselves that there is no _real_ danger."

"No?" Tom said, interest mildly peaked.

"Of course not," Amaryllis confidently replied, raising her head a little higher, proud that she seemed to have figured something out no one else had. "If the person behind the attacks really intended anyone to come to permanent harm, the first attack and even the ones to follow, would have been much more damaging than a simple petrification that can be cured with an easily brewed Mandrake Drought."

"Unless the person behind the attacks is trying to lull everyone like you into a false sense of security before really striking out," Tom said softly. Amaryllis was right, he didn't _really_ want any harm to come to the mudbloods whilst he was still in Hogwarts–that might prove problematic for him–but there was no reason to give her the impression that he thought there was some truth to her words. The whole point behind the attacks was to inspire fear in the populace of Hogwarts. Fear, by his hand, even if the castle did not know it was him by name.

"That would be rather cunning of him, the heir of _Slytherin–_House of deceit–but what he obviously did not foresee wasmy Ravenclaw intelligence untangling his master-plan and discovering that the heir truly means no one any harm at all. He's just trying to cause a ruckus. Stir up unnecessary trouble. It might even be that he's _bored_ and attacking students without bringing harm to them is the only way he knows how to have fun."

"Why does it have to be a boy?" Tom asked, steering the conversation, hopefully, in a different direction. "Why can't it be a girl? Slytherin must have had female heirs, otherwise at least one wizarding family would still go by the name 'Slytherin.'"

"Unless they thought it was too risky and changed their name."

"They wouldn't have changed their name, they would have proudly stood at the height of wizarding society using all the power that name brought them. Plus, I doubt Slytherin's line consisted only of males, either way," Tom finished. He never _really_ enjoyed speaking with Amaryllis, but she was tolerable, most of the time. "And, I'm sorry, but I'm a touch busy at the moment. If it's possible to continue this conversation at another time…?"

"Oh, what are you doing?" Tom sighed internally. Yet another price to be paid for having such a charming façade. People just didn't seem to want to leave you alone, even when you asked nicely.

"I'm looking for someone, and I think the house-elves might be able to help me locate them. So I'm going to the kitchens to ask."

"And who is this… person, you seek?" Amaryllis asked in clipped tones. Tom clenched his jaw, having not the patience, the desire, nor the time to deal with Amaryllis' feelings of covetousness for him.

"I don't really see how it's any of your business, but if you must know, I'm looking for Harry," he replied, doing his best too keep from seeming too friendly or too harsh.

"Oh, him." Amaryllis was suddenly all smiles and cheer again. "I saw him earlier, dashing through the corridors."

Tom slammed to a halt and Amaryllis passed him a few paces before stopping as well and turning back. "Is something the matter?"

"Where did he go?" Tom bit out in haste.

The Ravenclaw girl blinked thoughtfully, looking back on what she'd seen. "I'm not sure. I wish I could help, but it was when I was leaving the Great Hall about two hours ago, I think. Something must have shocked him greatly; he had a hand covering his mouth and a look of disbelief on his face." She frowned. "I do hope he's alright now…"

"That's why I have to find him." Tom started off again, scolding himself for getting his hopes up. There would be no reason for Amaryllis to really _pay attention_ to where Harry was going. Not many people usually did.

The two didn't speak again until they had reached the second floor. "You know, Tom," Amaryllis began hesitantly, "I didn't just call out to you only because I was curious about your well-being, there was something I had to ask you."

_Oh, do get on with it already. _"I see, and what was that?"

"I just–you see, I was wondering, since you don't have–I mean, would you attend Slughorn's Christmas party with me?"

_Not another one…_ He'd had girls coming up to him all week requesting he go with them to the party. Some had invitations of their own; _some_ did not.

"The party is tomorrow," Tom said slowly, as if speaking to a child. "Why would you ask me twenty-four hours prior to the date?"

Amaryllis' steps faltered and Tom pulled ahead in strides. Seconds later, her hurried footfalls–echoing off the walls–had her catching up and moving ahead of Tom so she could peer back at his face while walking. "But, you aren't going with anyone; I know you aren't. You never go with anyone–"

"Precisely," he said, fluidly cutting her off. "To be frank, it would be a bother and bring me unnecessary trouble if I were to escort anyone to even _one_ of Slughorn's events."

"But what if we go as friends?" Amaryllis suggested desperately, grasping at straws. "I heard that's what your friend Harry and his friend Dmitry are doing, and they're both _boys–"_

Once again Tom halted in his journey towards the kitchens, and fixed Amaryllis with his coldest of glares, allowing satisfaction to flow through him when she visibly flinched.

"Harry, like you said, is my _friend."_ His words were chips of ice. "I do not appreciate you hinting at such things about him, and if I ever catch you, or hear of you, doing so again, I will terminate whatever _relationship_ the two of us have, _immediately._" He didn't think Harry would bee keen on having such rumors spread, no matter what truth there was to them, and it was the only threat the older Slytherin would openly be able to carry out at the school.

Amaryllis' lip quivered and she glanced down, clenching the material of her robes in her hands. "I'm sorry–I did not mean…" She sniffed once.

"But, if you promise to behave yourself and let me be until next term, I might be able to save at least one dance for you." Amaryllis was a valuable asset to have–a prefect, and part of a distinguished French family. She might not be his favorite person, but he couldn't go around throwing away people he might later need favors from over nothing. Though, if she ever _did_ say anything unfavorable about Harry to anyone other than him, Tom would not hold back his wrath.

His words caused her head to shoot up and hope to fill her eyes. "Of course, I won't say anything else! I didn't mean to imply before–I apologize." She gave him one last smile. "I guess I'll see you at the party then. Don't forget the dance, and good luck with finding Harry!" She traipsed off to rejoin whatever grouping she'd abandoned for him.

Grateful to be rid of the bothersome girl, Tom finished the rest of his short trip to the kitchen. Tickling the pear in the portrait of fruit, he watched, frowning, as it giggled and turned into a door handle. He didn't understand why the piece of fruit had been made to _giggle_, but many things in the wizarding world had simply not made sense to Tom, and a great many more probably never would.

The clamor of pots and pans and the hustle and bustle of the house-elves bound to Hogwarts assaulted his senses as soon as he opened the portrait door. Smells of dinner being prepared made his stomach rumble, seeing as how he'd missed out on lunch by utilizing his time to search for Harry instead.

Immediately after his stomach emitted the sound of hunger, three house-elves had rushed over and pulled him to a small table in the corner, out of the way. Almost as soon as he was seated, three more elves carrying a large silver platter of fruits and cheese and a goblet of pumpkin juice came running and placed the food and drink in front of him.

"Would the young master Tom Riddle be wanting anything else?" squeaked an elf wearing a tea cozy like all the others.

"Actually, I was wondering if you could help me find someone," Tom said, grateful for the food and popping a grape into his mouth. He assumed it was the duty of the house-elves to know the identity of all who lived in the castle, and therefore didn't question how they knew his name.

There was a murmur amongst the gathered six, and the house-elf who had previously spoken said, "We's is not supposed to be helping students find students. We's is only supposed to be's bringing them foods."

Tom put on a helpless face and stared worriedly out at the creatures. "But it's terribly important that I find him quickly, and I'd be forever grateful if you could help."

The elf's eyes widened and it's ears twitched once… twice… and it shooed the other elves back to work.

"Fizzy has decided Fizzy will help the young master," the elf, Fizzy, said enthusiastically, turning back to Tom. "Who is it young master Tom Riddle wishes Fizzy to seek?"

"Harry Evans, if you don't mind."

"Oh, no, oh, no. Fizzy doesn't mind. Finding young master Harry Evans should be no problem!"

Tom watched as Fizzy's face screwed up in concentration. It took a moment, but soon there was a small_ pop_ signaling the house elf's disapparation. Tom relaxed into the too-small chair and quickly devoured the food he'd been given. He'd need the energy for whatever face-off he and Harry were about to have.

The minutes ticked by and the food slowly vanished. Tom was beginning to think that it was a lost cause to try and involve a house-elf, when Fizzy returned with another _pop._

"Did you find him?" Tom asked excitedly, nearly stumbling over the words in his mouth.

"Fizzy did finds the young master," Fizzy began slowly, nervously. "But Fizzy doesn't think you can finds him since he doesn't wants to be found."

Tom's brows furrowed together. "What? Why not? Why can't you jest tell me where he is?"

"House-elves serves all the young masters at Hogwarts, but we serves the Headmaster the most. Young master Tom Riddle asks Fizzy to find young master Harry Evans, and young master Harry Evans asks Fizzy not to tell. Fizzy should have never gone looking in the first place." Fizzy shook his (or was it a her?) head violently. Tom held his tongue.

"That's alright, Fizzy. You did your best. I'll just have to find him on my own." He stood and made for the door. What else could he do? The house-elves of Hogwarts weren't bound to him specifically. Like Fizzy said, they were bound to the Headmaster, whomever it happened to be at the time. No matter how much Tom yelled, threatened, or inflicted pain, Fizzy would not be able to give away Harry's whereabouts unless Headmaster Dippet ordered the elf to.

That, and it would not do to insult the house-elves who took care of his food, laundry, and cleaned his dorm. Tom knew when it was pointless, he knew when he'd lost, but that didn't mean he liked it. "Thank you for the food."

Manners were appreciated in every species.

He didn't bother examining the dungeons after his kitchen failure. It would probably end up being a waste of his valuable time. Besides, Harry was sure to turn up at dinner that night, and Tom would corner him afterwards. So, he returned to the Slytherin common room and down the winding staircase to Harry's dorm, expecting the others to still be there.

Opening the door, he found Orion stretched out on Dmitry's bed, Abraxas sitting daintily on Harry's–legs crossed and one hand rubbing his chin in deep thought–and Dmitry standing in the center of the room, modeling a set of midnight blue robes with small, silken periwinkle stars decorating the cuffs.

There was no Harry.

His entrance had caught the attention of all, and the three inside the dorm turned to identify the intruder.

"Tom," Orion said with no little surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Where's Harry?" Dmitry put in. "I think I've finally decided on wearing this, and I want his opinion as well."

"To answer both questions in one go," Tom said, crossing the room to sit stiffly beside Abraxas, "I'm back because Harry took off."

Orion gaped in horror. "Have you two had another fight?"

Tom opened his mouth, but was promptly cut off by Dmitry. "No, they can't! We've all _just _become close again; I don't want to have to choose sides!"

"Because you know you'd choose Harry's, and you're afraid of what Tom may do to you?" Orion said with the tiniest of grins, taking enjoyment from Dmitry's dismayed disposition.

"No! Well, yes," Dmitry admitted sheepishly, "but I don't want to have to choose because I want to be able to spend time with all of you! If they've had a fight and Harry truly is irritated with Tom, _again,_ then I won't be able to _anything _fun with _anyone."_

"Isn't that a little bit of an exageration?"

"It isn't! It's the truth! Harry won't want me speaking to any of you, Tom won't want any of you speaking to me–it would be much too horrible to bear! And with the holidays only a week away now, things will only get worse over the separation." Dmitry trailed off and then lit up as though he'd just had the grandest of all ideas. "Unless," he turned to Tom, eyes sparkling in hope, "you and Harry are able to make up over the holidays, since the two of you are always here, together. But, then, if you truly have fought, Harry might decide to take me up on my offer and come with me back to Russia–"

"You offered to take him to Russia over the break with you?" Abraxas asked in astonishment. "What did he say?"

"He said he couldn't because things with Tom and him were just beginning to right themselves, and it would be better to stay here," Dmitry sadly explained. "But maybe he'll be coming next summer. Of course, you all are invited as well. I'll just have to make sure it's all right with my family first."

"And if it's not, I'll just go with my family when I normally do, and Abraxas can tag along," Orion helpfully put in.

"Yes, I'd been anticipating that of you, just in case–"

"If _anyone_ cares," Tom interrupted, mildly irritated that he'd not been able to get a word in edgewise, "Harry and I have _not_, in reality, had a fight."

They all stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head, which wasn't a good sign.

"Then why," Abraxas drawled, "did Harry 'run off,' as you put it?"

"It's private," Tom growled with a baleful glare at them all, his patience for the day having been all used up on the useless house-elves and grating Amaryllis.

And _that_ was the end of _that_.

Tom had hoped to see Harry at dinner, but the boy never turned up. He'd waited in the Slytherin common room until midnight, playing wizards chess with Orion. Harry did not appear. He even woke up at six in the morning to check if Harry had climbed into bed at an even later time. The boy's bed was vacant and untouched. By breakfast Tom was admittedly worried and showing a few visible signs of it. Abraxas was busy consoling him when the owl came for Dmitry.

"Harry says he's okay," Dmitry said, reading the letter. Tom, who hadn't been paying any attention to Dmitry or the owl (what if Harry had been ambushed by Gryffindors and his body left somewhere to die?), struck out like a viper and snatched the letter out of Dmitry's hands.

_Sorry I disappeared yesterday–if you noticed– but don't worry, I'm still taking you to Slughorn's party. It starts at seven, so I'll meet you in the entrance hall at six fifty-five? And don't fret over what to where. You'll look good in anything, even a paper bag._

_Harry_

Tom read and re-read the letter. _Shouldn't _I _have been the one he sent a reassuring message to?_

"Why didn't he send a letter to you, Tom?" Orion voiced from Dmitry's side across from him. "Or did you lie about having not really had a fight?"

Tom refrained from tearing up Dmitry's letter out of spite. He folded it once, down the middle, and handed it back to the Russian with perfect composure.

"I think," he said in an unwavering tone, "that Harry believes me to be very, very angry with him, and _that's_ why he's chosen to hide himself away in some secluded nook of the castle."

"And are you?" Abraxas asked at the same time Dmitry questioned, "Why would he think that?"

"I'm not mad at him, no. I could never be mad at him for what he ended up doing. Bust as to what that actually is, is a private matter that Harry might tell you when you see him tonight, or he might not. I have no control over the matter, but, Dmitry, I trust you have it within you to give up some time you _would_ be spending with Harry so that I may make him understand that everything's fine between us."

It wasn't a question, and everyone knew it. "Of course," Dmitry easily complied. "I like it even less than you when the two of you are fighting."

A humorless smile stretched Tom's lips. "I doubt that."

After breakfast Dmitry penned a response to Harry, justifying his act to the others because the time Harry suggested they meet was _merely_ a suggestion and ended in a question mark.

Tom spent the day studying and finishing up the few assignments he had left to turn in the coming week along with figuring out just what exactly he was going to say to Harry when the two came face-to-face. Twice, he wished he has a time-turner that could take him to the future, rather the past, and three times he wished he had a time-turner to return to the past and follow Harry, rather than lie in the snow, so he wouldn't be so anxious about the upcoming party.

"Well, would you look at that?" Orion said in the common room at six-forty that evening as he and Tom waited for Abraxas and Dmitry to show up. It was not compulsory to attend wearing dress-robes, so both boys were dressed in their school uniforms. Exceedingly clean, well-pressed school uniforms, but all the same, not dress-robes. Orion didn't wear them because he didn't like the fanciness of it all, and Tom didn't wear them because he didn't own a pair. It wasn't in his budget. Other students would be wearing their uniforms too, but it didn't really matter to Tom if he and Orion were the only ones underdressed or not.

"What is it?" Tom asked, coming over to the bulletin board where Orion stood.

"They've extended the term by one day, Saturday, and turned it into a Hogsmeade weekend."

Tom scoffed at the sheer ludicracy of the idea. "Why do that? If it was to give those staying in the castle an extra shopping day, they could have done it without keeping the rest of the school behind."

"Yes, but the administration of this school leaves much to be desired, don't you think?"

Tom hummed in agreement. "Maybe I should become Headmaster after I graduate."

"I doubt it," Orion said with a laugh. "It's just, Dumbeldore's Deputy Headmaster, and so if Dippet retires, Dumbledore automatically gets the job," he hastily amended. It wouldn't do to have it seem as though he was saying he didn't believe Tom could become Headmaster.

"But you forget, dear Orion, that I am a master of manipulation, and if I were to somehow become a part of the staff, I give it two years, five tops, before Dippet hands Dumbledore's prestigious position over to me. Then, it's just a matter of time before I poison my way into the position of Headmaster."

"Tricky, deceitful, cunning, crafty–I love it!" Orion approved. "Except the bit about getting a teaching position right after school. None of them are open."

"Let's just say I may or may not have spent a good chunk of time with Professor Merrythought, during which our dear Defense Professor most certainly did not get a bit too wasted and inform me that she's thinking that next year might possibly be her last. I happen to let slip, however, that the south of France was a lovely place to visit."

"You didn't?" Orion said, a sly grin stretching his face.

"I did. And I'm thinking that, if I continue on the path of being a studious teacher's aide for that class, when I apply for the job Merrythought might even recommend me."

Orion clapped Tom on the back. "Excellent. You'll really go places in the world with that sort of attitude."

"What sort of attitude?" Abraxas asked, coming up behind the pair in pearl-white robes. Dmitry sauntered up as well in the midnight-blue choice from yesterday.

"They extended the term by one day to give everyone a Hogsmeade trip," Orion said, matter-of-factly to distract the duo of well-dressed wizards. "Come, let's be off." He held out his arm for Abraxas to take, but the blonde swept past as though the Black heir were invisible.

"That's odd," Dmitry remarked as they exited the common room, Orion complaining up ahead to Abraxas about how the Malfoy was a terrible date, even though the two weren't technically going together.

"Yes, it is," Tom agreed distractedly. If things went well with Harry tonight, he'd want the entire population out of the school as quickly as possible so he could have his wicked way with–

He coughed once, earning a quick glance from Dmitry, but said nothing. Now was not the time for thoughts such as those.

In the entrance hall, the trio of sixth years bade goodbye to Dmitry and continued up another level. This year, Slughorn seemed to have pulled out all the stops and was not hosting the party from the depths of the dingy, desolate dungeons. According to the invitation, the location was a large unused classroom on the second floor.

"May I escort you through the doors, my darling?" Orion threw at Abraxas with a blindingly white smile that made Tom think he'd used a whitening charm when he thought no one was paying attention.

Abraxas' smile was chillingly frightening. "No."

Pushing past the two with a shake of his head, Tom handed his invitation to an elf that was apparently guarding the entrance from those unwelcome, and stepped into the party.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Harry's brusque walk was really more like a half-run. His hand was clamped tightly over his mouth, and his eyes were bulging insanely from their sockets. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. It was stupid, it was careless, and he didn't _understand_ why he'd been overcome with the sudden urge to kiss Tom. Even less comprehendible was why he'd succumbed to that feeling.

He passed little packs of students as he traveled aimlessly through the castle, trying to put as much distance between himself and Tom as possible. None of them paid him any mind. One or two students here or there curiously watched him rush away, but that was about it. No one tried to follow him or ask what was wrong.

That was one of the advantages of not being the Boy-Who-Lived. The entire population of Horwarts–of the wizarding _world_ wasn't forcing their way into his business; business they had no place being.

He replayed the event over and over again in his mind. It didn't seem real.

An optimistic thought sprung up that maybe, just _maybe_, it hadn't really happened. That it was all just a figment of his imagination, and that Tom was still out on the grounds, utterly baffled as to why Harry had suddenly run off. But that hope was soon trashed. He knew it wasn't possible; he shouldn't try to convince himself of otherwise.

When Harry finally looked up and paid attention to where his feet had taken him, he was in front of a long stretch of wall on the seventh floor across from a tapestry depicting a wizard attempting to teach trolls to dance.

The Room of Requirement. Despite the situation, the corners of Harry's lips twitched in barely noticeable satisfaction. It would seem that, if he was ever in need of a place to lie low, his body would bring him to the Room whether he was fully conscious of it or not; and he did _need_ to hide. Previously, he'd only been thinking of getting away from Tom before the older boy could take action against him, but now… Yes, tucking himself away there was probably the best thing to do.

He paced the length of the wall three times thinking, _I need a place to hide_, and a door morphed into existence. Taking the brass knob firmly, he pushed the door open and grinned feebly, despite himself.

The Room never disappointed. It had fashioned an almost exact replica of Harry's Slytherin dorm, with the only differences being that the number of beds had dwindled down to one and there was a window beside his desk.

Closing the door and locking the deadbolt feature generated by the Room, he strode over and threw himself facedown on the bed, letting out a frustrated scream. He didn't understand. _Why _had he kissed Tom? There was no _point_ to it. Nothing to gain from it; Tom was a _boy–_

_So?_ began a traitorous little voice inside his head, springing into existence. _You've been dreaming of him for _weeks.

Harry wanted to deny the claims and murder the voice, but he couldn't. One, because it was a manifestation of his mental being, and the other–

_Because I'm right._

_Go away._

_You know it's true. Just like you _know _what you feel for Tom is–_

_What about Cho, what about Ginny? I loved her–_

'_Loved' being the operative word there. Feelings change, and you haven't seen Ginny Weasley in a decade, at least._

Harry ignored the voice and turned on his side, curling up into a ball. There were people who didn't see each other for extended periods of time, and _their_ feelings didn't disappear…

_Their feelings also run much deeper than anything you ever _thought_ you felt for darling Ginevra. Why is it o hard to admit that maybe you just _like_ Tom? A lot._

Harry grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, as though coming to terms with his emotions gave him great physical pain.

Fine, so _maybe_ he was a _mildly_ attracted to Tom. The voice snorted, but he continued to pay it no mind. Tom _had_ been making a regular appearance in Harry's dreams, as of late, and so, logically, attraction was the correct option to choose when you added in the scenarios in which he was cropping up.

_But I don't have to like it,_ Harry thought vehemently.

_Don't kid yourself, _the voice scornfully replied. _If you didn't like it, why would you dream of him? If you didn't want it, why would you kiss him?_

Harry cursed the rationale of the voice's argument. _No comment._

_Don't purposefully blind yourself to the facts; it's terribly unbecoming. The first step is acknowledgement. Step two, coming to terms with it. And the third, most vital step is to simply go on with life._

_HOW CAN I CONTIUE ON AFTER KISSING TOM? He'll _kill _me!_

The voice heaved a mental sigh (if that was even possible). _So does that mean you'll kill yourself before he gets the chance to? Funny, you never seemed suicidal before. Face it, mistakes get made all the time. You think you've done a cosmic wrong, so what? The sun will set tonight and rise tomorrow. Some things will continue living; others will die. Life. Goes. On. Deal with it._

Harry decided it was probably his inner voice of reason speaking with him because everything it was saying made an epic amount of sense. He still didn't like it.

_But Tom–_

_If Tom ends up murdering you just because you happened to give him a little kiss in the snow then he wasn't a very good friend to begin with, the years you spent in his company meant _nothing_ to him, and no matter what you tried in the future or did in the past, he's already predestined to become Lord Voldemort, and you might as well die now than spend half a century fruitlessly trying to stop it,_ the voice snapped rudely. _Do you really have such little faith in him?_

_No–_

_Then either one of three things will happen. One: he cuts all ties with you, because he's an arse. Two: he ignores it and acts like it never happened, which is a good thing. Or, three: he liked it._

_How is–_ Harry opened his eyes and sat up so fast his vision blackened, and he momentarily felt the effects of vertigo. _WHAT!_

_Hmm?_ Came the nonchalant response.

_What do you mean by 'liked it?'_

_Exactly how it sounds. Maybe he has hidden feelings for you–like you for him–that he hid in order to avoid a possible confrontation that would result in a severed friendship._

_But, I would never break off–_

_And yet you expect he would? _If the voice had a corporeal form, Harry was sure it would be staring down at him and smirking in triumph. _Stop looking at him as though he's Voldemort, and look at him as _Tom_. Tom, the boy you grew up with. Tom, the only one whom you befriended out of the scores of people you met in the muggle world. Tom, who chose _only you_ to be his friend as well. There's a bond between the two of you, forged the day you walked into Wool's, so _stop _acting and thinking as though he'd seriously injure you over such inconsequential matters._

Harry scowled. _He _didn't think a kiss was such a minor thing. He also didn't believe what the voice had said about Tom harboring secret feelings for him to be true either, but realized how imprudently and thoughtlessly he was acting about the situation. Tom _was _his friend, and if one day Ron had come up and kissed him, Harry wouldn't have abandoned the redhead just like that. He wouldn't have spitefully tried to get back at the other boy either. He would have been surprised, sure, but–had Ron dashed off like Harry with Tom–Harry would have dropped the subject until Ron brought it up, while sustaining his camaraderie with the youngest Weasley male. If he could be that way with Ron, why couldn't Tom be that way with him? Their friendship should be just as strong, if not stronger since he and Tom had known each other for ten years rather than six.

However, Harry didn't feel as though running away from the scene was too rash of an action to have taken. The probability of something going terribly, irreversibly wrong was exceedingly higher, if he had stayed.

But now there was the dilemma of facing Tom again. It would be remarkably cowardly of him if he stayed in the Room of Requirement for the rest of his life, no matter how much it seemed like a good option now. On the other hand, he didn't feel as though he could handle being in Tom's immediate company at the moment. Harry had literally _just_ come to terms with the very high and inauspicious probability that he felt something deeper than friendship for Tom, and not in a brotherly way.

He needed time to think–to come to terms with this epiphany, and the Room seemed like the best sort of place…

Yes, that was it. He'd spend the rest of the day, night, and most of the following camped out in the Room dealing with hysterical "what-ifs," and when he emerged in time for Slughorn's party, he'll have accepted his odd emotions for Tom, one hundred percent.

Or, at least, that was the _plan._ And maybe not one _hundred_ percent _per se_. Being around seventy-two or even forty-three would be fine. Not the greatest he could do, but still better than zero; one hundred percent denial.

After pondering over the notion some more, Harry decided that most sensible way to regain control over his tempestuous emotional mentality, was to simply block it all out. Distract himself by _doing_ something else. So he settled down to read.

It was an interesting book he was provided–taken from the bedside stand–and looked vaguely familiar. He couldn't place where he'd seen it before, but there was an itch in the back of his mind he couldn't get rid of. Two chapters in and, right when he felt like he was about to remember where he'd seen the text, his thought process was interrupted by a small _pop,_ signaling the appearance of a house-elf.

And indeed, there was now a house-elf, wrapped in a tea-cozy with the Hogwarts emblem on it, standing at the foot of Harry's bed.

"Master Harry Evans, sir?" it squeaked. Harry assumed it was a male, since the pitch of its voice was more reminiscent of Dobby as opposed to than Winky.

"Yes?" he asked cautiously. Harry had no idea why a Hogwarts house-elf would be seeking him out. The only time that had ever happened was when Dobby had given him the gillyweed that the elf had stolen from Snape's stores.

The house-elf before him now gave a little bow. "Fizzy has been asked by the master Tom Riddle to finds master Harry Evans!" While Fizzy appeared delighted that he was able to fulfill a request from a student, Harry felt his blood freeze in his veins.

No, he _couldn't_ let Tom find him yet. He wasn't ready; it was too soon!

"Erm, Fizzy," Harry said, awkwardly sitting up from where he'd been lying on his stomach. "Is it possible for you to _not_ tell Tom where I am?"

Fizzy's face fell and the elf shuffled its weight from foot to foot nervously. "Master Tom Riddle is wanting to know where master Harry Evans is… Master Tom Riddle is a prefect, Fizzy should be helping… Master Harry Evans isn't being up to no goods, is he?" Fizzy's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Harry quickly held up both hands and denied the accusation. "No, no; no trouble at all. I just want to be alone–I don't want _anyone_ to find me. It's why I'm here."

"Yes, Fizzy noticed yous being in the Come and Go room." Fizzy surveyed the conjured surroundings. "But when students don't wants prefects finding them, they's is usually ups to no goods!"

Harry sighed, rubbing a tired hand down his face. How could he make this house-elf understand?

"Well, Fizzy," he began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "I don't want to be found because I'm working on… a surprise, of sorts. It's for Tom–his birthday's coming up–and that's why I'm hiding here. I don't think he knows about this place, and if he does, he can't get in because I've locked the door." He prayed the elf would buy his lie.

Fizzy's already bulbous eyes widened even further and he nodded quite excitedly, ears flapping back and forth. "Fizzy understands; Fizzy _loves_ surprises!"

"That's great, Fizzy," Harry said with a grin. "So you see why Tom simply _can't _know where I am right now? It would ruin the surprise."

Fizzy went back to being nervous in a quick second, fiddling with the hem of his tea cozy. "Fizzy doesn't know… Fizzy doesn't know if he shoulds be lying to master Tom Riddle about not finding master Harry Evans…"

"Just tell him _you_ found me, but I'm hidden so well that Tom won't be able to, even if you tell him my exact location," Harry suggested quickly. It wasn't a complete lie, and Fizzy would have fulfilled his requested duty, so there wouldn't be any need for the little elf to punish himself later. Fizzy's eyes became alight at the idea, and his whole being perked up.

"Fizzy will do just as master Harry Evans says! Master Harry Evans is such a smart student!"

"Thanks, Fizzy," Harry said, smiling.

"Yous is very welcome, sir!" Fizzy left with a _pop,_ and Harry felt his body sag. _That was a close shave…_

Reaching out to pick up his forgotten book, he paused, eyebrows rising in slow realization as he remembered where he'd seen it before. It was, in fact, the sister text to that _useless_ tome on blood-warding he'd purchased in Diagon Alley all those years ago.

Frowning disgustedly, Harry stared at the book, contemplating whether or not he should continue reading such obvious trash. _It shouldn't hurt, I suppose, to read it. So long as I _never_ try out any of the spells within…_

With that justification, Harry spent the rest of his time in the Room reading the book, treating it as if its contents were pure fiction. It was possible, of course, that _some _of the spells it held might work as depicted, but–having already had one colossal mishap brought about from the series–Harry chose to treat it as though the entire book was nothing but make-believe. The only time he paused in his reading was when he fell asleep, and when he snuck out to the owlry in the wee hours of the morning to spirit off a letter to Dmitry, informing the Russian that he would still be taking him to the party and offering a time to meet.

The book was a good distraction, until he realized it was time to leave.

As the hour of seven on Sunday evening drew closer, Harry felt the butterflies in his stomach that had calmed considerably since the previous day, stir up in an incurable flutter. He felt as through the lunch the Room had provided him was about to make a reappearance, and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and hide under the covers. But that wouldn't be fair to Dmitry.

So when six fifty-five rolled around, Harry could be seen emerging from within what most people thought was a broom cupboard in the entrance hall, but was actually a concealed staircase that took you directly to the third floor, only a corridor away from where Fluffy had once lived.

"Harry!" He smiled a genuine smile as he saw Dmitry rushing over from the other side of the hall. When the Russian had almost reached him, Dmitry gave a little twirl so that his dress robes fanned out around him. "What do you think of these? They're glorious, aren't they? I found them at the bottom of my trunk–I thought I was going to have to make a secret run out to Hogsmeade to buy a new pair."

"Lucky you found these then, huh?" Harry said, leading Dmitry to the foot of the marble staircase. "Shall we?"

Dmitry grinned enthusiastically. "Wait." He stuck a hand into the pocket of his robes. "I brought your invitation from the dorm. I noticed it as I was getting ready. It would be bad for our image if we were turned away at the doors and had to go back for this."

Harry graciously took the parchment from Dmitry. "Thanks. I'd forgotten all about this."

"I assumed as much. Oh! Did you know–well, probably you didn't since you didn't return to the common room today–they've extended term one day and turned it into a Hogsmeade weekend."

"What's the point in doing that?" Harry asked as they reached the landing to the second floor.

"To give those staying at Hogwarts an extra day of Chrismas shopping?"

"No, we're allowed to go to the village–if we're above second year and have a teacher accompanying us, that is. And Tom and I usually use a secret passage out if we ever feel the need to visit the town."

"I didn't know there were secret passages out of the castle!" Dmitry exclaimed in mock outrage. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"You never asked," Harry said simply. "And it's not really something you bring up in conversation."

"No, it's how you _begin_ a conversation," Dmitry pointed out. "Any of those many days when I've been bored, you could have come up and said, 'Oh, Dmitry, by the way, since things are rather dull right now, would you like to escape the castle with me and go on an adventure?'"

Harry rolled his eyes in faux annoyance. "Sure, it sounds great when you put it like that, but just because you leave the castle when you're not supposed to, it doesn't mean you'll find adventure. You might be just as bored in The Three Broomsticks as you would in the library. Here."

They had reached the appointed destination for the Christmas party, and Harry handed over his invitation to the house-elf blocking the door with the job to keep the uninvited out. It checked the letter once with its eyes and a second time with magic before handing it back and allowing the two Slytherins entrance.

Despite them having arrived a few minutes past seven, the large room was already milling about with people–some in school robes, and many in formalwear.

The normally unused space Slughorn had commandeered was the size of three ordinary classrooms put together and, if Harry was not mistaken, had a pair of glass double doors that lead out onto a small balcony. There was sheer, gauzy drapery hung about on the walls in light silvery-whites and deep blood-reds with golden chairs lined up around the circular room for those who were too tired to dance or stand. Straight across from the entrance was a long buffet table stocked with finger foods and drinks, while the middle of the area was completely cleared for those who wished to dance. Tom, Harry noted with surprise, was already there, twirling around in a graceful waltz with an incredibly pretty blonde girl Harry had only met once before in passing. It didn't take a genius to note her obvious veela heritage.

"Come, come." Dmitry took hold of Harry's arm and pulled him over to where Abraxas and Orion were standing. The Malfoy scion was chatting up two female Slytherin seventh years, while Orion stood there looking rather bored until his eyes landed on Harry.

"Ah, so you've finally decided to show your face," he said cheerfully when the fifth-year duo was near enough. "I thought you'd had enough of hiding out where no one could find you."

"I'm–"

"Don't start in on him for that, Orion," Dmitry snapped, jumping to Harry's defense. "He's here now, that's all that matters. Just drop it."

"Okay, okay." Orion held up both his hands, palms out. "No need to get so testy. I was only joking."

Dmitry gave him one last suspicious look before all traces of irritation vanished. "So, how'd Tom get cajoled onto the floor? I didn't think he'd be one for dancing."

"Oh, Tom always spends a large portion at the beginning of these parties being asked to dance. All the girls have a secret thing for him, even the Gryffindors," Orion added with a cheeky wink. "Most of the time he politely turns them down, occasionally he'll have a dance or two with them because it benefits him in some way. This one–"

"Seems to have sunk her sharp little half-breed claws into him before the party even began," one of the girls Abraxas was talking to said. She had a rather thin face and a pointed nose. Her opaque eyes were narrowed haughtily, and her voice was filled with venom. "As soon as she showed up, she made a beeline over here and dragged him off. Something about a promise he'd made the other day. Disgraceful," she finished with a sniff.

"Now, Violet," Abraxas admonished with a serene smile, "don't be like that. What would your brother say?"

"Brutus doesn't attend Hogwarts anymore, Abraxas," Violet said stiffly. "Or did you forget?"

"Of course not, Violet." Abraxas' voice suddenly became hard. "Or did _you_ forget that, with a simple owl, your brother can easily be made aware of how you're behaving in public. If I'm not mistaken–and I'm _really_ typically not–he told you specifically, as the Head of the Parkinson House, that you were to reign in your open condescension towards your betters."

Violet glared at Abraxas in open-mouthed outrage. "And you think _she_ is my better?" she spat, spittle flying from her lips. It wasn't a pretty picture. Abraxas flicked his wrist in perfect execution and a handkerchief with a beautifully embroidered Malfoy emblem came forth from within his sleeve. He dabbed at the spit marring his cheeks and returned the cloth to its place.

"I don't think; I know. Her mother might be half-veela, but she is also a member of a high-ranking pureblood family in France, and her father is the head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation here in Britain. You might be a Parkinson, Violet, but don't forget that your family was only recently returned to greatness by the Malfoys generosity, and can't stand alone."

Violets face was red with rage, but instead of saying anything else, she smartly held her tongue and stalked off. Her friend sent an apologetic look Abraxas' way and followed after.

"Those Parkinsons sure are a testy lot," Orion said, watching Violet storm though the ever-growing crowd.

"Yes, I'm sorry you had to put up with her," Abraxas said while smiling his most charming smile at a pair of Ravenclaw fifth years. "I was more interested in speaking with Pricilla than her, but oh well. There doesn't appear to be any shortage of women to choose from at this party." And with that, he swept over to the Ravenclaw girls and lead one (the redhead) smoothly out onto the dance floor.

"What did he mean about the Malfoy family making the Parkinson family great?" Dmitry inquired curiously.

Orion sat down in one of the ornate golden chairs with Harry following suit while Dmitry stayed standing, surveying the room.

"Basically," Orion began as though he were about to tell a long and interesting story when really it would only be a summary of events, "Brutus and Violet's father had a gambling problem. A _big_ gambling problem. So big that he gambled the family fortune away. He never told his wife or anyone else until it came out a few years ago and, rather then own up to his mistakes, he committed suicide, leaving Brutus, who was recently of age, Head of the House. Now, because Brutus was the new Parkinson Head, all his father's debts landed in his lap. It was really bad. They were going to lose absolutely everything until Abraxas' father stepped in and helped Brutus pay it all off. And now, Brutus and Mr. Malfoy are engaged in some sort of business partnership, and the House of Parkinson in indebted to the House of Malfoy in a pretty big way for helping out when they did."

Harry wondered if that was why Pansy had always publically been enamored with Draco. It would be exceedingly intelligent for the Parkinson House to join with the Malfoys–thereby eliminating whatever debt was left between them.

"Hello Harry, Dmitry." Harry was brought from his musings as a Slytherin fifth year, Delahila Witte, approached them in a shimmering golden set of dress robes. "I was wondering if either of you would care for a dance with me?"

Dmitry looked down at Harry, who tilted his head in the smallest of ways. Dmitry took the hint.

"I'd be honored to have this dance, Delahila," Dmitry said, and held out his hand, graciously, to escort her away.

"Not one for dancing?" Orion commented once the other two were out of earshot as Harry and he watched the many pairs spin around the room.

"Not really." The song had changed on the gigantic record player being kept out of the way on the opposite side of the room. The girl whom Tom was dancing with hadn't relinquished him yet, not that Harry minded. "I'm not very good at it. I wouldn't have come at all if Dmitry hadn't wanted to go so badly."

"A very kind thing for you to do."

"Yes, but I'm getting a trip to Russia out of it, so I don't mind. Much. I'll just endure the night of Slughorn and requests to dance with a pleasant smile and a thousand, 'No's.'"

Orion smirked mysteriously. "A thousand no's, maybe, but they'll be a yes or two before the night's out. With plenty of pretty girls coming at you from every side, how could you resist?"

Harry raised both his eyebrows at his older friend. "And that's why you come to these? For the girls?"

"Rather devious of me, isn't it? I always come alone, but never leave as such. It's a good way to, well–you know what I mean. All the festive cheer in the air, setting the right mood. Bloody brilliant, Slughorn's Christmas parties."

Shaking his head, Harry looked heavenward and noticed the illusion of snowflakes drifting down from the ceiling. "Does this mean I should leave you to get started on your work?"

"It would be appreciated," Orion conceded. "It seems females feel more inclined to approach the handsome male sitting alone, rather than one accompanied by another guy."

Harry gave a small bow of his head. "As you wish, milord." He stood, stretching his back and hearing a satisfying pop. Feeling somewhat thirsty, he wove his way through the outer crowd of gossipers until he'd reached the buffet table and claimed a goblet of punch as his own.

"Ah, Harry, m'boy. Good to see you could make it!" Harry turned, cup in hand, to see Professor Slughorn approaching.

Swallowing his drink, he plastered a respectful smile on his face. "Hello, Professor. Thank you for inviting me, it really is a lovely party."

"It is, it is." Slughorn nodded in agreement. "Took the house-elves all day to put together. They seem to get better at it every year."

Harry didn't doubt it.

"Anyway," Slughorn continued, "I wanted to introduce you to someone–ah, yes, here he is, the esteemed Nicolas Flamel!"

An elderly man with snow-white hair, thick round glasses, and clothes as eccentric as Dumbledore's hobbled up from behind Slughorn. Harry was absolutely astonished that Slughorn had managed to get Flamel to attend.

"Flamel, here, is a famous alchemist, Mr. Evans–the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone! Why, he's over six hundred now!"

Flamel gave a somewhat strained smile at this, and Harry though it would be best to change the subject, but his good intentions to make the old alchemist less uncomfortable were stolen by another.

"Here you are, Nicolas. I'd wondered where you'd gotten off to. Good evening Horace, Mr. Evans." Harry wondered if the party could get any worse as Dumbledore sidled up to the little grouping.

"Evening, Albus, I was just introducing your friend Nicolas to young Mr. Evans here. Mr. Evans is quite the potions maker–has the makings to become an alchemist himself one day!"

Now, Slughorn was pushing it. While Harry's skills with potions had far exceeded his previous abilities held while Snape was Potions Master, he was nowhere near–and probably never would be–the level of an alchemist.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I have to disagree with that statement," Harry said with a tiny, cordial smile. "I don't believe I'll ever be at that level in this lifetime."

"Nonsense," Sluhorn said with a dismissing wave. "I know talent–trust me, Harry, I've seen many talented youths in my time here. With a bit more effort, you could become great! Maybe even make your own Stone," he finished with a wink. It was at this point that Harry decided Slughorn was probably a touch inebriated from one too many pre-party drinks. Very bad taste, for the host. Or, Slughorn was just acting as he always did, boasting first and thinking of the consequences later.

Dumbledore used the edgy silence to once again save the day. "Actually, Nicolas, there was someone with whom I wished to introduce you to. A Mr. Splottering–owns a very interesting, if not well-known, publishing company."

"Yes, yes, Splottering!" Slughorn said, delightedly. "Pulled himself up from nothing, he did. And now look at him! He was one of my students, of course–graduated only five years ago! Amazing accomplishment, simply amazing!" The trio disappeared into the crowd.

Suddenly feeling very claustrophobic with the eyes of many upon him, Harry thought it would be best to step outside and breath some fresh air. Another reason for his choice was the cluster of girls near him, all of who were eyeing him as though he were a tasty treat they couldn't wait to devour.

Making his way over to the exit, Harry passed through the sheer, silver hangings and out the glass doors onto the balcony. It was, thankfully, deserted. He didn't think he would be able to deal with any more people for a while after having been in that stuffy, crowded room. He hoped no one had seen his stealthy exit from the party; he didn't want to be bothered anymore.

The outside was not as extravagantly decorated as the party's interior through the frost-stained doors, but there was a string of fairy-lights wrapped around the railing and hanging from awning like twinkling icicles. A few cushioned benches dotted the stone terrace, and Harry made a quick beeline towards one that was partially hidden in shadow. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a strong dose of Calming Drought, right about now. It was nerve-wracking just being in the same room with Tom, and he was sure the other boy had been sending him meaningful looks ever since he'd arrived, giving off the clear intention that he wished to talk to Harry.

The sounds of music and laughter coming from the party got louder all of a sudden, and then dimmed. Curious, Harry tilted his head towards the doors and immediately tensed, catching eyes with the exact person he wanted to see least of all at the moment.

_Speak of the devil, and he shall appear... Does that work just _thinking _of him too?_

Tom's dark eyes glittered in the soft glow from the fairies as he crossed the snow-dusted balcony to sit next to Harry. The emerald-eyed boy scooted as far away from Tom as the bench would allow. If the older Slytherin noticed, he didn't comment on it.

The silence between the two was awkward, at best. Neither made any attempt to begin a conversation, and Harry was sure his rigid form wasn't doing much to help the situation as he looked off to his left, away from Tom.

"Why did you kiss me?"

The straightforward question cut through the chilly December night air over the muted on-goings of the party, causing Harry to wince. Trust Tom to get straight to the point.

"I don't know," he answered after a moments pause, fisting at the material of his uniform trousers.

"That's not an answer, you do know; tell the truth."

"Because..." Harry really didn't want to say it. He didn't want to risk the friendship he'd built with Tom, _again, _over something so insignificant that could be left forever in the dark. He didn't _want_ the truth to be let out in the open, and a part of him still didn't want to recognize it at all, no matter how hard he'd been trying otherwise. He chanced a glance over at Tom. The older boy was sitting ramrod-straight, eyes forward and skin glimmering in the moonlight like a beautifully carved statue. "Because I wanted to."

_I wasn't supposed to say that! _Harry thought frantically. _Wasn't I supposed to come up with a tremendously clever lie?_

He saw Tom's breathing, which had been calm and steady, catch in his throat, making an odd sort of accompanying sound.

"And," Tom's voice was shaking slightly. Harry wasn't sure if it was due to anger or something else. "And _why_ did you want to?"

"I dunno, Tom," Harry said, sighing. "I just did it because I felt like it; because I wanted to. Because you looked so–" he cut himself off, feeling his cheeks begin to warm. That_ definitely _wasn't supposed to come out. He really needed to start _thinking _before he _spoke_.

Tom's head twisted slowly so that he was looking directly at Harry. Their eyes locked. Harry wanted to look away, he really did, but something within the black depths of Tom's gaze kept him frozen, captivated and entranced by the emotions swirling there.

"'Because I looked so,' what?" He brought up a hand to cup Harry's chin, and Harry noted in the back of his mind that it was trembling. "Maybe," Tom said quietly, in an almost whisper, "if it was anything how you look right now… I suppose I can understand."

Harry's eyes widened as Tom moved in closer, and time seemed to slow. Half of him was screaming to move, to get away, that staying put was a very, _very bad_ idea. And the other half...

Neither boy closed their eyes as their lips touched for the second time in as many days. It was soft and sweet, and more innocent that anything Harry ever felt Tom was capable of. The older boy drew away first and let out a shaky breath that ghosted across Harry's face, warming his cheeks. The kiss hadn't been like the wet one between Cho and him, nor had it been like the more passionate kisses Harry had shared with Ginny.

It was a thousand times better.

Faster than lightning, the boys' were attached at the mouth again, propelled by a fiery need to lay claim to the other. To prove to themselves that what was happening was real. Their movements were borderline frantic, their desires, carnal.

Harry's hands came up and quickly became entangled in Tom's soft locks. He felt a momentary admiration for the texture of the elder's hair before it was lost as Tom's hand not cupping Harry's face managed to elicit a muffled groan from the younger boy as it ran up his thigh, leaving a trail of tingles behind. Their bodies pressed close together as lust and a longing to touch grew thicker around them.

A piercing shriek of laughter from inside brought them out of their self-created bubble and back to reality with a harsh snap. Breaking away from each other and panting heavily, it took a minute for the fogginess to clear from Harry's brain, and when it did, he moved back to his seat from where he'd been trying (and succeeding) to climb into Tom's lap. How could they have forgotten themselves like that? They weren't alone, not completely. Anyone could have wanted a breath of air and stepped outside and _seen_ them...

"Maybe... maybe we should go back in," Harry suggested. It wasn't what he truly wanted to do, but it was better than staying out there and losing themselves again.

"Alright," Tom agreed after a long moment. When they had both composed themselves they stood, sluggishly returning to the party. Tom held the door open for him as Harry passed through the hangings, rejoining the frivolity of the many guests. He snaked his way through the crowd to an unoccupied corner next to a large, white potted poinsettia and leaned back against the wall, watching Dmitry twirl around the dance floor with a girl he'd never seen before. Tom came up beside him and copied his movements, observing the partygoers have their fun.

Harry should have been freaking out inside. He hadn't meant to kiss Tom again; he hadn't meant for any of what had just occurred to have taken place at all, _ever_.Only it _had,_ and it didn't look as though he could say, "Haha, just kidding," and be done with it.

But the strange thing was, he didn't want to. As much as he probably should, he didn't _want_ to act as if it was all a bad joke. He didn't _want_ to pretend as if nothing had happened; that Tom and he hadn't kissed. There was something between them, and ignorance to that wouldn't do him any good.

And Harry smiled as he felt Tom take his hand in his own.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: **_Wow... Well, this update took an extremely long time, and I'm sorry for that. There were probably five different times when I finished the chapter, re-read it for editing purposes, then scrapped between 1/2 - 2/3's of it. And then there was one time when I practically finished the chapter and my computer broke and I basically lost it all. That caused at least seven table-flips-of-rage, I think. Hopefully this (finally finalized) version is okay. Again, Sorry for the long wait! It probably felt like I abandoned the story, but I didn't, I swear! And I never will. Promise. _

_Enjoy the chapter~!_

* * *

><p><em>I've fallen from grace, took a blow to my face, I've loved and I've lost. I've loved, and I've lost.<em> –Ellie Goulding (Explosions)

Slughorn's party was all the school was able to talk about for the following days. Everyone who hadn't attended the luxurious affair was trying to squeeze every last detail from those who had gone, not that they had any real trouble doing so. The handfuls of lucky attendees were thoroughly enjoying basking in the jealousy-fueled limelight of the rest of the school, and readily spread gossip as fast as their smiling lips could flap. The rumor mill was churning out accusations—true and false—at its fastest pace; probably because everyone would be returning home shortly, Harry assumed. It was by far easier to relay facts and falsities when there was a small herd of salivating gossipmongers stationed three feet in front of you, rather than having to send all the dirty little details off through multiple letters, resulting in ink stains, hand cramps, and very grumpy owls.

One such student who had no qualms with spreading around the excitement of the evening was Dmitry. The Russian had no problem constantly repeating the events of Slughorn's party anytime someone asked, which was all the time (or so it seemed to Harry). The first time he'd heard Dmitry recount the splendor of that night, complete with comical expressions and hand gestures, Harry had smiled and laughed with everyone else. The second still held a certain amusement as well, but now that he had lost count of how many individual times the tale of Slughorn's party had passed from Dmitry's mouth to his ear, Harry found it to be a rather stale routine that was grating on his very last nerve.

He could hardly wait for the week to be over and everyone to leave the castle.

Dmitry waved jauntily to a squadron of fourth year Slytherin girls as they exited the library, giggling and enthusiastically mimicking the movement. Harry's head rested on one arm, as his opposite hand was busy using his quill to doodle squiggles, stars, and snitches on his parchment. Its original purpose was for quick notes on obscure potions he thought might be useful for him to use during the O.W.L.'s, but Harry couldn't find the energy in him to concentrate on that task when there had been a small herd of females flirting with his Russian friend less than a foot away. Even though he had already technically sat through the test before and passed, this time he was aiming for straight O's, and the difference between a good score and a great score was all in the details. It was a good idea for him to set his sights on achieving the highest grades he possibly could on his Ordinary Wizarding Levels since he had no idea how long he would be in the past. He wanted to make sure he kept his options open. This was especially true when taken into consideration how he really _didn't_ want to become an Auror and continue in the fight against all things dark and evil. He had enough of that during his far-too-many battles set in the nineteen-nineties.

Plus, achieving straight O's was a good way to make Tom proud (and give Harry warm and pleasant feelings inside, but he would never admit it!), though he secretly suspected the older boy already expected such high standards of him anyway...

Unfortunately, Harry's fabulously grand vision of greatness in the academic field had been packed up and stored away when the gaggle of Slytherin girls had wandered up to Dmitry and his table in the library. On the surface, their intent was to glean information about Slughorn's party that hadn't yet traversed the halls, but Harry knew that it had more to do with one particular girl's crush on the handsome Russian. Of course, it was indeed quite possible that the group did in fact hold a mild interest and desire for any and all details they could obtain about the shindig. However, when trying to approach someone you weren't exactly even acquaintances with, faux-enthusiasm in a subject they obviously enjoyed speaking about was always a good excuse to start up a conversation.

Dmitry sighed heavily and Harry flicked his unfocused gaze to the boy across from him. "What?"

"This is getting a bit tiresome, don't you think?" Dmitry complained, resting his arms on the table and frowning. "The _allure_ of it all has disappeared. I mean, you know how much I love attention—I'm not going to _lie_ about it—but having people approach me left and right, wanting _only_ to hear the same story again and again..." He let out a giant huff and scowled slightly. "I swear, if another person asks me what happened, I'm going to snap."

Harry snorted humorlessly. "You could have fooled me. And there was always the option of just saying 'no' in the beginning, like I did when that first salivating dog came looking for a bone. Or done as Abraxas and told your version of events _once _and glared with the promise of pain and death at any and all who came wandering up afterwards."

Dmitry gave Harry a funny look. "Did you _not_ hear me just admit to adoring the wide-eyed idolization that _every single person_ directed at me whenever I spoke of the party?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. He really didn't have any sympathy for Dmitry. Not a single iota. "If you _really_ didn't like it, you could have said 'no' when the girls came up just now."

Dmitry pouted. "That would have been rude. I'm not blind. I know that girl—you know, the one with the butterfly clip—has a bit of a thing for me. Not like it'll go anywhere, though. She's not my type. But they were employing a _Slytherin_ tactic in trying to get her closer to me by feigning interest in what I had to say, so I wasn't just going to turn them away. Even though it didn't really work out for her, since she stayed silent the whole time, staring red-faced and creepily at me," he stated with a shiver, as an afterthought.

"Then just politely decline whoever comes up and asks again," Harry pointed out exasperatedly. "It's not hard; trust me. And if you don't think you can manage it, just signal to me and I'll happily be as rude as I possibly can if that'll get the twits to leave. It's not as though I particularly _enjoy_ hearing the story again, and again, and again," he finished with a grimace.

"But I just said I couldn't turn them away," Dmitry complained, a hint of a whine in his voice. "They were using _Slytherin tactics_—"

"Doesn't matter," Harry instantly shot down. "It's not really a very Slytherin plan if you were able to pick up on it so quickly. And employing a tactic that's so obvious and not one they came up with on their own doesn't really shine a good light on the positive qualities and inventive cunning of our House." He leisurely tickled his cheek with the feathered end of his quill in contemplation. "Are you sure the 'annoyance' you feel is even real?"

"Of course it is!" Dmitry's lips thinned before he let his mouth relax with another sigh. "I'm not proud of it, you know. My _need _for attention."

"I do."

"And I thought I'd only have to talk about the party maybe five times at most."

"Understandable."

"It's only been, what, _three_ days, for Merlin's sake! They come at me from everywhere, like starved animals—honestly! An over-excited, hyper little first-year Hufflepuff cornered me in the toilet earlier—_no, I'm not kidding, don't laugh!_ He must have found the kitchens and eaten _all_ the sweets the house elves offered because he was practically _vibrating—_no, wait, I think he actually was!" He threw his arms up in irritation. "It's ridiculous. I'm not the _only _person who was at Slughorn's party with gossip to tell; there _were_ other people there," Dmitry finished and dramatically flopped down onto the table, knocking against _Moste Potente Potions _(the text Harry was supposed to be taking notes from) in his exaggerated distress.

Although his actions were overdone, Harry didn't doubt that Dmitry truly was altogether completely fed up with people approaching him and demanding his story. Some had even returned for multiple rounds, though Harry didn't know _why_ they'd want to. And while it was true that there were others who were quite willing to be bothered by the masses, Harry was sure the reason for Dmitry's large audience stemmed from the Russian's fantastic story-telling ability.

"Yes," Harry conceded, "all that's true, but it's obvious they're all trying to squeeze as much additional information out of you as possible. Something _new._ And there's the fact that you're friends with Orion and they're hoping you might, well, you know."

"And I do," Dmitry scoffed; disdain dripping from his voice as he lifted his head. "But it's not like I'd break his trust and spread _it_ around. Just what does the rest of the school think our friendship _is_, anyway?"

"A facade kept up in public to show unity as one since we're Slytherins and obviously can't develop any emotional bonds with others due to the fact that we're all backstabbing liars, out to save only our own skins, and full to bursting with greed and malice? Oh, and that any so-called 'friends' are kept around for the sole purpose to further our own status or career," Harry put dryly.

Dmitry gave a half-grin. "Who do they think we are, Gryffindors?"

Harry made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat and went back to tapping his parchment with the tip his quill. He didn't completely agree with Dmitry's statement against Gryffindors, but he couldn't disagree either. He'd learned that people couldn't be judged solely on what House they were sorted into. Each and every one had its own share of bad and good apples. He'd known many-a-fickle Gryffindor, but he'd also befriended some of the most loyal. Just like how, even though Dmitry, Orion, Abraxas, Tom, and his friendship was the real-deal (or so he hoped), there were also those in Slytherin who really were playing the game only for themselves.

The situation he was currently referring to, however—what the entire school _really _wanted to hear about—was the appropriately dubbed "Orion Triangle." In fact, so much did the students desire to know about the juicy details behind Orion's escapades that particular night, that they had even put aside their fear that Harry might be the one petrifying students. Not being attacked recently had made the students bold.

To be frank, Harry sincerely hadn't expected anyone to approach him about the debacle. Which was why it came as such a huge surprise when, the morning after the party, two Ravenclaw girls had sauntered up to him in the Great Hall over breakfast and tried to strike up a conversation. It was an incredibly awkward attempt and he was grateful when Tom, who had been eating next to Harry, _politely_ ordered them to either spit it out or leave. The ultimatum seemed to have powered up their confidence levels because they stopped beating around the bush and, while one girl simperingly fluttered her eyelashes at Tom, the other asked if it was true he'd been to Slughorn's party. It was after he'd given an affirmative answer and they'd enquired about the scene Orion had unfortunately been a part of that Harry had, somewhat loudly for the benefit of the rest of the room (whose occupants were stealthily, and failingly, trying to listen in), firmly stated that he had nothing to say. And that he never would have anything to comment on or about Orion because he _abhorred_ aiding the Hogwarts gossip network.

Naturally, the two girls were embarrassed and quickly scuttled back to their table, but the announcement didn't seem to curb everyone's inexplicable need to badger Harry. Baselessly believing that _they alone_ would be able to wrangle the "truth" out of him kept the idiots coming. He had been asked nicely, threatened, offered sexual encounters, and there was even an attempted blackmail—which didn't really work out in favor of the blackmailer when Tom swiftly found out—all before the first day was done. Harry was twitching dangerously and was so very much on the verge of strangling the next person who came up to him and asked about the _stupid_ party when help came in an unexpected way from an unexpected place.

Angelo Weasley.

Abraxas had offhandedly informed him about a certain scene the scion of the House of Malfoy had stumbled across whilst taking a stroll around the fourth floor. Angelo Weasley—Yes, _Weasley_; who could mistake that hair?—had been berating a pair of second years from his House who seemed Hell-bent on getting Harry to talk. How they planned to accomplish such a futile task when everyone else older, but not necessarily wiser, had failed, Harry was unsure. And he didn't exactly care. Yet the fact that his savior had been _Weasley_ came as a shock to Harry. The Gryffindor prefect had been one of his biggest stalkers ever since the first attack.

However, when he got the rest of the story out of the amused Malfoy heir, Harry's shock morphed into lackluster acceptance. It seemed, according to Abraxas, that Angelo had told the second year pair how asinine their behavior was… and then proceeded to preach to them about how much of a danger Harry _was_ since it was still unproven that he _wasn't_ responsible for petrifying those unlucky muggle-born students. He had then concluded his tirade with the reminder that it was probably best for their overall health and survival to keep from antagonizing the evil Slytherin Heir. Of course, no proof existed confirming Harry _was_ in any was responsible for the attacks either, but since he was Dumbledore's biggest suspect and Professor Dumbledore was _never_ _wrong_…

It might have been a blow to his reputation but Harry felt indebted to Angelo—not like he'd ever tell the boy, but he might make it up to him in another way—for the reminder of his _possible_ guilt; since it was quickly spread around and his annoying followers completely vanished into the woodwork.

"Although," Dmitry began slowly, eyes fixed on the top of the bookcase behind Harry, "I still find the entire situation completely unbelievable, even though I saw it occur." He shook his head in recollection. "I'm beyond appalled by the behavior of those girls. Someone should sit them down and give them proper lessons on etiquette and the correct way to conduct oneself at a social event. I can't believe they would lower themselves to such a plebian level, and all for _Orion_."

Harry's lips quirked up in a wicked grin and he straightened his position in his chair. "I don't know why you're so surprised. You know how promiscuous he is. But," he consented, "I do agree with you on the subject of those girls. Their behavior was very unbecoming and, quite frankly, disgraceful. I mean, one would have expected such a brawl from Gryffindors—or, well, maybe not _expect,_ " Harry corrected, "but they wouldn't be altogether surprised by a display of unruliness from the brash House of Lions. However, I think the reason why so many people are flabbergasted by the event is because it was a fight between _Hufflepuffs_."

"I know, right?" Dmitry grinned amusedly. "So much for House loyalty between badgers…"

"I don't think such ties of friendship extend when the parties involved are arguing for the same man. Or woman," Harry mentioned practically.

"True… But I _do_ think Professor Slughorn was well within his rights to have them expelled from the party for their display. I mean, maybe if they had stuck to smearing the others character in the pathetically amusing way they _had_ been going at it, everything would have been alright, but when things came to blows… They knocked over the punch bowl for Merlin's sake!" Dmitry finished passionately.

"Things only became physical when that Ravenclaw joined the argument," Harry said, privately amazed that the Black heir could cause such discord amongst females in such a limited amount of time. If what he'd heard about Sirius was true, then it was obvious he'd inherited his way with women from his father. "Maybe if Orion hadn't been womanizing all evening long and had stuck to simply seducing _one _girl, then nothing of such _exciting_ proportions would have transpired. I almost shudder to think what would have happened if he hadn't been out on the balcony when the fight occurred… with another girl…"

"It's no excuse!" Dmitry slammed his hand down on the table for emphasis, an action which cracked echoingly through the near-silent library and caused many students to jump, startled, in their seats and quickly search out the origin of the sound. Madame Pince sent a glare Dmitry's way that guaranteed untold suffering, to which Dmitry replied with a sheepish, apologetic smile. He didn't wish for his library "privileges"—for that's what Madame Pince referred to them as—to be revoked for the rest of the school year; something she was always vowing to do to those students who couldn't find it in themselves to keep quiet.

The strict librarian seemed to accept Dmitry's apology-grin and went back to her work with an indignant sniff, but still sent the duo suspicious looks as if she expected them to set the bookshelves on fire and invite the first years to dance with them around the blaze in the buff.

"It's no excuse," Dmitry started again, much quieter and without an accompanying table-top slap. "They shouldn't have acted the way they did, and when they found out about the _third _girl, they should have realized it was all Orion's fault and taken out their displeasure on him; at another time, in another place. I mean, do you know—have you any idea how my Babushka would have handled the situation? No, you can't know, you've never met her," Dmitry mumbled. "Let me tell you what she would have done. She would have had the annoying troublemakers tossed from the party with a few scathing words to their character, and never invited them back. Their reputations would be tarnished, and they would never be able to remove the embarrassing stain. And no one would fault my Babushka for it. No one would rebuff her for any action she deigned to take. Not like these simple-minded _fools,_" Dmitry sneered in absolute disgust, "who think it is necessary to condemn Slughorn for what he decided to do. I don't think Amaryllis will _ever_ be able to get that stain out of her robes. There had to be _some_ for of punishment. " Dmitry pouted in vexation. "No one would be complaining this much or have such colored words if it were a trio of Slytherins who were tossed out on their bums. They would be laughing and saying how much the girls deserved it."

"Ah," Harry grinned crookedly, hoping to bring his friend out of the brooding mood the Russian had somehow managed to nest himself in, "but then, one _would_ assume a true female deserving of the title 'Slytherin' would have enough sense to resolve her problems in private, rather than choosing to air her dirty laundry in a very public party where only the most prestigious are invited to attend."

The corner of Dmitry's mouth twitched up in approval of Harry's words. "True."

Harry gave his friend a quick, small smile and returned his attentions to his potions book. Now Dmitry's admirers were gone, he might be able to finally get _some _work done.

The day would not be wasted.

His dreams of studying were punctured after a measly five minutes when Dmitry interrupted him with a groan for attention. "_Why_ are you studying potions? You already know the material and it's not like the test will be _that _difficult," he said, speaking of the end of term exam Slughorn had prepared that Dmitry, Harry, and the rest of the Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth years would be taking tomorrow.

In answer to the question, Harry showed the cover of his text to Dmitry so the other boy could see proof the notes weren't for their in-class assessment. "This is for the O.W.L.'s."

"But they're so far away!" Dmitry exclaimed in astonishment. "Six months!"

"It doesn't hurt to start early. Do you remember what it was like for Abraxas, Orion, and even Tom a mere _month_ before their exams? They were constantly in the library and Abraxas was more than a little on edge. Remember how he almost cursed that poor second year girl with the crush on him who finally managed to build up enough courage to tell him she thought his hair looked extra beautiful that day?" Dmitry snorted at the comical image that entertaining memory brought forth, and the girl's _abysmal_ choice of words. Harry continued lightheartedly, "And Abraxas _adores_ compliments about his hair. It's his best feature and he cares for it in a near-obsessive manner. I'm just trying to pace myself here so that I don't end up like them."

"I suppose I can understand that," Dmitry conceded slowly, "But can't you study during the Yule break? After the break? Why _now?_ I don't want to spend the day in the library… It feels like we're _always_ here looking up one thing or another. It's boring, and dull, and very taxing on my already poor attention span."

Harry pursed his lips and stared unyieldingly at Dmitry's pleading face. "You do realize you could leave by yourself if you really don't want to be here, right?"

"But you're my friend."

Oh, that wasn't fair, Harry thought idly. Playing the friendship card.

"If we were to leave the library—hypothetically, of course—what exactly would we _do_ instead?" Harry inquired, giving the appearance of seriously considering his friend's request, but only because he doubted any real work would get done if he had to deal with a bored Dmitry.

"We could go to the quidditch pitch—"

"Seriously? It's too cold. And I haven't got a broom. I'm not about to sit in the stands while you fly around and get frostbite on my arse. Or use one of the schools _pathetic_ twigs."

"There's chess—"

"Which I'm pants at. Next."

"Gobstones—"

"I don't particularly enjoy disgusting, smelly liquid being shot at my face, Dmitry."

"Uh… Hide and seek?" Dmitry suggested weakly. Harry didn't even deign to answer. He just gave the blond across from him a _look_ that said it all. "Well what do you want to do, then; other than reading in the library. You're being such an, ah, what is the phrase… A wet towel."

"Wet blanket," Harry corrected casually. English wasn't Dmitry's first language, or even his second, so he never faulted the other boy when he mixed something up or got his words wrong. "And really, Dmitry, what else is there to do in the school. It we were allowed off the grounds there would be more exciting things to do, but we aren't and, honestly, the novelty of living in a magical castle wears off sometime during third year." Which was probably why only third years and up were allowed to visit Hogsmeade. The faculty would have a riot on their hands otherwise.

A mischievous grin nearly split Dmitry's face as he leaned in closer to Harry. To anyone else, it looked suspiciously like two Slytherin's plotting something diabolical. Needless to say, the rest of the school would know by dinnertime. "So why don't we sneak out? To Hogsmeade?"

Harry smiled sweetly back at Dmitry and spoke in a sugary voice. "Well, silly, that would be because we're going to the little village this Saturday, and I don't want to be _bored out of my mind_ then too."

Dmitry groaned and lay his upper body across the table. "Stop making sense," was his muffled retort. "You're ruining life for the rest of us."

"Aww, don't worry, Dmitry," Harry cooed, patting his friends head. "I'm sure even without me you'd manage to ruin your life perfectly fine."

"Ha, ha, ha. I think I'm getting a stitch in my side. I can hardly stop laughing, you're just that funny," Dmitry intoned flatly with a scowl, sitting up. He could never stay slumped in public for too long. Apparently, correct posture was beaten into him from a very young age. His family was of high standing in Russia and the other Slavic countries, which allowed for little leeway when it came to acting inappropriately and without proper decorum in public places. The Hogwarts library counted as one such location.

"Just," Harry threw up a hand in frustration, "I don't know, read something? It passes the time, really it does. And if you don't want to read textbooks, what about fiction? Fiction is always a good place to go when there's nothing else to do." He paused. "Or, just… leave. Like I said before. Because I'm going to stay here for an hour more, maybe, and then I'm going down to dinner."

Dmitry stared at him, and Harry stared right back, neither giving the other an inch. Eventually Dmitry rolled his eyes and stood. "Fine. I'll go find someone else to play chess with. But you better come down to dinner in an hour or else I'm going to convince Madame Pince that all the time you spend in the library is actually going towards the design of an astronomically massive prank that will likely destroy at least a third of her precious collection."

Harry gasped. "You wouldn't!"

Dmitry raised a single eyebrow and pretended to stroke a non-existent goatee. "You might be surprised, Harry my darling, by just how evil and conniving I can be. I was sorted Slytherin for a reason, after all. So dinner," he warned. "Or else." With that, he turned on his heel, his robes snapping behind him, and billowed out of the library in an eerily accurate rendition of Snape. Harry watched him go with a disbelieving half-grin frozen on his face. There had to be a spell that made robes do that, and one day, Harry was sure he'd figure it out.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Exams were easy enough. It was almost laughable how unchallenging Harry found them. Although, if he was being honest, had they posed any sort of difficulty whatsoever, he would have been surprised. Even if he hadn't spent the last week holed up in the library—much to Dmitry's distress—pouring over the seemingly infinite amount of books Hogwarts possessed, there was still the indisputable fact that he was already beyond the average Hogwarts level of education. The questions on the tests were different, true enough (he would have been extremely disappointed if they weren't, given it was a whole new set of instructors creating them), but the concepts, the things that _mattered_, stayed the same.

Dmitry had whined and complained before and after each exam about how much he didn't want to take them and how silly it was that they were taking mid-term exams when the only grades that mattered that year were the O.W.L.'s, and Harry privately agreed with him. The near-constant barrage of complaints didn't bother him nearly as much as Dmitry gossiping about Slughorn's party because Harry had long ago—thanks to Ron and Hermione—mastered the art of tuning out such quibbling.

And now, it was over. Exams were done, the feast had been had, and everyone would be getting ready to board the train home within the next few hours.

Or at least, they _should._

But no one was. As far as Harry knew, no one had even _begun_ packing yet. There hadn't exactly been a _point_ to rushing around last night after the leaving feast, or waking up early to throw belongings haphazardly into trunks when the students had the whole of the day to do it. Which is why that particular Saturday morning nearly everyone was sleeping in. The hearsay spread through the school was that the _real _reason why the students had to spend an extra day at Hogwarts before they were allowed to go home before Yule was because there happened to be an extra day in the school year. It could have been used before Yule break or before summer break, and the staff had decided it would be better to use the day sooner rather than later, for obvious reasons, of course.

And, while most people were happily bundled up in the fluffy, warm comforters Hogwarts provided, sleeping in until the sun was high in the sky, Harry was trying to fall _back_ asleep. He was attempting to return to the pleasant dream he'd been having (something about a Hippogriff quest and dancing men in broccoli suits) but it was quickly slipping away as he became more cognizant.

He blamed the frigid temperature surrounding him. Who could fall back asleep when air that was (probably) below freezing was assaulting them from all sides?

That, and the persistent _twat_ who wouldn't stop shaking his shoulder. Really, if his wand were closer, he would hex the fool. Since it wasn't, he was weighing the pros and cons of gut-punching the imbecile who didn't seem to be able to grasp the fact that he. Did. Not. Want. To. Get. Up. And he probably would have done so sooner, if he weren't so certain that particular action wouldn't go over so well with the other person.

"I know you're awake. You moved. This attempt at feigning sleep is absolutely pathetic," Tom said calmly. "But if you really insist on keeping up this façade, I could conjure a bucket of cold water to dump on you, if that would help you get moving. I know how much you appreciated it last time."

Harry, lying on his stomach, squeezed the pillow trapped in his arms tighter and cracked open an eye. "You're remembering wrong," he grumbled, not doubting Tom would follow through on his threat. He had no wish to be taken to the hospital wing so early and as a Harry-sicle.

Tom stopped shaking his shoulder now that an auditory response had been garnered and brought a finger to his chin. "Really?" His voiced _dripped_ surprised innocence. "I could have sworn that last time you thought it was a rather fun game. You _were_ laughing, after all."

"Like I said, you're remembering it wrong. Your brain must be going. Too bad since you're still so young—don't worry, I'm sure there's a potion for that. I mean, how else could you mistake my flailing and sputtering for laughter? _Orion_ was the one who, I believe, found my unfortunately wet disposition to be too humorous to contain his amusement."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Does it really matter? No? I didn't think so." He plowed on, not giving Harry a chance to argue. "Either way, I didn't come down here and wake you up to discuss exactly how much you appreciated being roused by cold water."

He paused and Harry waited for him to continue with all the patience one could muster in the wee hours of the morning. When it became obvious the other wouldn't continue without prompting (nor would he leave), Harry gave an annoyed grunt and humored him. "_Why_, then, you decide to wake me, Tom? What could _possibly_ be _so important_ that it couldn't wait until I was up at a decent time, preferably after the sun?"

"The sun's been out for _at least_ an hour now," Tom countered.

Harry closed his eyes and snuggled further into the warmth of his bed. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Then get up and come to Hogsmeade with me."

"No." The hand came back, more fervent in its shaking. In fact, Harry noted absently, if he were to classify it, the "shaking" now was really more like violent shoving. He batted at the hand and rolled away so that he was out of reach and on his back. Opening his eyes, he scowled at Tom. "Please don't tell me you woke me up at seven—"

"Eight-thirty."

"_Eight-thirty_, just to go to Hogsmeade?" He leveled Tom with the most annoyed glare he could muster. It didn't have the desired effect since the older boy simply raised an eyebrow as if to say, "Of course." He supposed he must look more like a sleepy cat than a terrifying _anything,_ but Harry tried not to dwell on that thought.

"We're going to Hogsmeade together." Tom's tone left no room for argument. That was fine, though, since Harry had decided at the beginning of the week that he would visit the wizarding village that day, and he'd assumed someone (Tom or Dmitry being the most likely) would accompany him.

"Hogsmeade isn't going anywhere," Harry stated patiently. "I don't see why I can't sleep in until ten-or-so."

"Other than that sleeping in so late is an atrocious habit that should never be nurtured in any way?" Tom looked at him as though Harry were a particularly slow child. "Are you trying to waste your life away? Besides," he leaned over Harry and smirked like a cat that caught the canary, "you haven't finished your holiday shopping. I know because you haven't handed over Dmitry's gift for me to hide in my trunk."

It was true, Harry admitted sullenly to himself. Dmitry could sniff out gifts like a bloodhound, a trick Harry had learned back in their first ear when he caught Dmitry opening his presents early. So, Harry generally gave anything he bought as a surprise for his Russian friend to Tom for safekeeping. Tom's trunk was the better, more secure place to store anything either boy wanted to keep from anyone else. Years of living at the orphanage with other children who enjoyed taking what they wanted, even if it didn't belong to them, had instilled in Tom a paranoia that led to a somewhat obsessive compulsive need to keep all his belongings in one place. One extremely well protected place. So he had warded his trunk against just about all kinds of theft and destruction.

"I was going to buy them when I go to Hogsmeade. Later. Today."

"It's better to get your shopping done earlier during this season, Harry, don't be such a pain about it. You know _all_ the shops will be more crowded this afternoon, once everyone with the same plan as you have gotten their lazy arses up and to Hogsmeade." Darn. Harry hated it when Tom decided to be realistic. "Besides, we won't even get there until ten anyway—what with how _quickly_ you're moving—which only gives us about two and a half hours to shop before we're supposed to meet up with Abraxas, Orion, and Dmitry for lunch at The Three Broomsticks."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it, blinking owlishly and confused up at Tom. Did he hear that right? "So… They—I mean, you and I… It's just going to be us? The two of us? Alone?" He had though once Tom finished with him, the older boy would go wake Dmitry; that Abraxas and Orion were already up, ready and waiting, down in the common room.

Tom scoffed. "Of course. That should have been obvious from what I said. See? Already this radical 'sleeping in' concept is beginning to eat away at your intellect. I informed Abraxas last night that you still had things to buy and told him to keep Dmitry busy until then. Orion wasn't there—probably celebrating the end of term exams with that Ravenclaw prefect; I hope he's being safe—but Abraxas said he'd relay the plan." Tom's hostile posture—he'd crossed his arms—and haughty tone did nothing to distract from or hide the pink tinge that dusted his cheeks.

Harry gave a small cough (not that he needed to; it just seemed appropriate). "Right." He stretched out his whole body, arching his back, and sat up. "Right, then. I'll just…" He gestured towards the bathroom. "Yeah. I'll be back, um, soon."

He rolled out of bed and hurried to the showers, eager to hide the rapidly appearing, happy blush that had begun to stain his face. It seemed today was supposed to be a date—their _first_ date—and Harry was feeling every kind of emotion he knew he _should _be feeling before a first date and yet never had. Anxiousness, excitement, apprehension, and more had come together and the proverbial crock-pot of feelings left his stomach in knots and his heart beating faster than the wings of a hummingbird.

It wasn't exactly _pleasant._

However, his giddy nervousness was not unfounded. Not only was it his first "date" with Tom, but also it was really his first date ever. True, there was that disastrous lunch with Cho, and they'd _technically_ been going out, but the whole ordeal was such a circus and he hadn't exactly wanted to attend in the first place… So he just didn't count it. And he and Ginny had never really gone anywhere, so the only other date he'd ever been on was the one earlier in the year with Aquila. Since he himself had never even agreed to go (the only reason he _did_ was because it would be impolite to turn her down the day _of_), he didn't count that one either.

Therefore, to him, going alone with Tom to Hogsmeade was honestly the first _real_ date he was having in his life. And Harry couldn't stop the smile that snuck its way onto his face at that thought. He didn't even try.

After they had kissed at Slughorn's party, Tom had continued treating him the same way the older boy always had, leaving Harry to do the same. He didn't _think_ Tom regretted it, but one never could be quite sure; and Harry wasn't about to bring it up, just in case. He wasn't about to put himself in a position where he could possibly be devastated by the answer to his question.

Exams also helped keep his mind off the topic and from obsessing over what could be, and was not. So Tom coming to him, planning their date—it gave him hope.

_Unless it's not really a date, and I'm getting worked up over nothing._ Harry pushed the nasty voice of pessimistic reason away. Nothing could ruin his cheerful mood. He wouldn't allow it.

Finishing up in the bathroom, Harry took a deep, calming breath before exiting into his room. He shouldn't come across as an over-eager puppy. _That_ was not attractive on any level. It might be considered cute to some people, but Harry wasn't one of them, and neither was Tom. In fact, if the older boy _did _happen to see him like that, it was likely he'd end up wearing a disgustingly smug smirk every time Harry looked his way for the rest of the month, at least. And he wasn't about to give Tom that particular level of satisfaction or over-inflation of his ego.

It seemed, however, he need not have worried. Upon reentering his dorm room, Tom was nowhere to be seen. Harry's stiff posture released, oozing gratefulness even as brief disappointment flickered in his eyes.

Swiftly clothing himself for the day, Harry toweled off his hair and grabbed his bag. After making sure he had his money pouch and that his schoolbooks weren't in it, he left the dorm and headed to the common room. He assumed Tom had decided to wait for him there, and when he reached the end of the stairs, he was rewarded with the sight of Tom sitting on one of the leather couches by the fireplace. The older boy acknowledged Harry's presence when he got close by shutting the small book he was reading, slipping it into his robe pocket, and saying, "Shall we get breakfast, then?"

Harry nodded and the two walked side-by-side and in companionable silence to the Great Hall. When they arrived, Harry's eyebrows rose in minute disbelief at it being more populated that he thought it would. "I didn't know so many people would be up right now."

Tom harrumphed and if Harry had cared to looked, he was sure he would have seen him roll his eyes. "First, this isn't a lot." They took a seat a seat at the Slytherin table. "Second, I don't know why you're making such a big deal about the time. Really, it isn't early. When classes are going on, generally you're up sooner than this by an hour or two." He stole a slice of toast from the towering stack provided by the house elves and began spreading strawberry jam over it, muttering, "Only Gryffindor idiots sleep in."

Harry frowned. "That makes no sense. Lots of Slytherins are still in bed; and Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws too. Or are you categorizing everyone who can't keep to an insane sleep schedule like you as a 'Gryffindor idiot?'" He cocked his head to the side and raised one corner of his mouth, giving Tom a sardonic grin. "Not everyone can survive on a modest five hours a night."

Tom scowled, but Harry pretended not to notice as he helped himself to some eggs and bacon. "I'm not saying that," the older boy denied. "Maybe I didn't explain myself well enough." He heaved a giant sigh, as if having to further relay his meaning was a great weight on his shoulders. "Think of it logically, Harry. They're never up early on weekends, they're always the last ones down for breakfast on school days—I've never seen a Gryffindor in the Hall before anyone else—never even _heard_ of it. It's a rare sighting, like muggles and big foot, but I digress. I'm not saying that _everyone_ who has a bit of a lie in is a lazy fool, just those who don't roll out of bed until noon or later.

Harry's face remained impassively neutral for all of fives seconds before he grinned widely, eyes sparkling with mirth. "I know what you meant, Tom. I just like to mess with you."

Tom's face turned furiously red and he sputtered in discomposure, which broke the last of Harry's walls and sent the younger boy into barely stifled peals of laughter. He knew he shouldn't and that his giggles were only fueling Tom's ire, but Harry couldn't help himself. It was just too amusing. Especially when Tom tried to murder him via unforgiving death glare. The expression did nothing for him when the older boy's face so closely resembled a tomato.

Harry didn't argue the point of laziness in the school and who was the worst with Tom, not wanting to get too deep on the subject. Because all of Gryffindor House was the enemy of Slytherin, they would always be in the wrong. They would never be able to do anything right, and if they did, it would have to be something exceptional. Instead, he chose to eat his breakfast while continuing to send, playful, teasing jabs Tom's way.

When they were satiated and well fed, the duo made their way to Hogsmeade. It was slow going through the snow, and when they finally made it, Harry immediately dragged Tom through the back streets until they arrived at a less-frequented clothing shop. Harry already had a vague idea about what he wanted to get for Dmitry, and headed to the very back where they kept scarves and other wintery apparel.

Browsing the stores small selection of neckwear, Harry fingered a fuzzy grey scarf embroidered with thick Celtic braids, a small, contemplative frown tugging his mouth down. "Do you think Dmitry will like this?" he asked over his shoulder, not really expecting an answer. Tom didn't care too much when it came to shopping for clothing or other such basic and "shallow" necessities. The material was of good quality, but it _was _a scarf. "Or maybe I should get him a book," he murmured softly to himself, glancing at the price and doing a few quick mental calculations. "But I don't want to get him something so… _generic."_ And that was true. While Tom would have appreciated the practicality a novel or informative text would offer, Dmitry favored more flashy presents that he could wear and brag about. Not that his Russian friend wouldn't be grateful for anything he received, Harry just happened to know what Dmitry would like _more_ than a book.

"And what about my present?" Tom inquired from close behind him. Harry hadn't realized he was still there. He thought Tom had gone off to browse whatever else the store had to offer.

Harry snorted at Tom's poor attempt to wrangle the truth of what his gifts were out of him, and rolled his eyes upward. "Presents are for good children, Tom, and this year you've been very naughty," he replied wryly, referring to the basilisk fiasco.

Tom's eyes darkened with mischief—a rare occurrence—and he slid over to the younger boy. "Oh, I don't know," he said, wrapping his arms around Harry's slender waist. Leaning in, he breathed huskily into Harry's ear, feeling the entrapped body shudder in response. "Would you like to see just how wicked I can be?"

Harry's immediate reaction was the heating up of his cheeks at the meaning behind Tom's words, and his eyes became hooded. His heart hammered wildly in his ribcage, and he wanted nothing more than to turn around and allow Tom to fulfill that statement—which absolutely terrified him. Harry blamed it on his hormones.

It was difficult for him to accept or even comprehend Tom behaving so forwardly. Unfortunately, they were in public. Sure, it was the back of a very clustered store and there probably weren't many people in the building, but one never knew who could be lurking behind a rack of bulky winter cloaks. So, taking a deep, steadying breath, Harry willed his carnal urges back under his control.

"Tom," Harry hissed gently, yet sharp at the same time. "Not here." He tried pushing the arms away, but the taller boy wasn't budging.

"Why not?" Tom's lips grazed the shell of Harry's ear. "It's not like I have a particular need to watch my behavior if I'm not to be receiving any presents." He tightened his iron-grip and nuzzled his face into Harry's neck.

"And what if someone were to see us?" Harry pointed out. It was the nineteen-forties, and while he didn't exactly know the wizarding world's standpoint on homosexuality (he didn't even know what it was back in his original time), he knew muggles didn't preach for that particular way of life. When Tom still refused to move, Harry decided to add, "Anyway, you won't get your presents if you continue to hold me like this when I don't want you to."

That seemed to have an effect on Tom since he loosened his arms around Harry considerably—but didn't drop them completely—and Harry half-turned to face him. "So you _did _get something for me," Tom said with a triumphantly smug air.

Harry pursed his lips. "I never said I hadn't." He glanced down at the arms still around his waist and opened his mouth to comment on them when a loud, hacking cough that could have only been two racks over breached the Slytherin pair's supposed solitude and caused Tom to snatch his hands back as if they were burned. Harry raised an eyebrow, refusing to appear shaken by their near-discovery. "See, I told you—"

"Finish that sentence and you'll be left without a tongue," Tom warned, so Harry shut his mouth. It wasn't that he was afraid Tom would actually follow through with the threat; he just didn't feel as though carrying that particular saying through to the end was very important.

With one last distain-filled glance at the scarf he now knew wouldn't be a purchase that day, Harry turned and quickly strode out of the store. He didn't look back; there was no need to. Tom's near-silent footfalls were barely discernible behind him.

"You're not going to buy any clothing?" Tom inquired once they were back out on the street.

Harry gave a tiny shake of his head. "No. There wasn't anything Dmitry would really like in there. I'd seen the scarf a month ago and thought maybe it would be a good present for him, but I changed my mind. And anything else that store carries I'm sure he either already has or would never wear because he finds it too repulsive. There's a used-goods shop up ahead we can go look at. Occasionally they have nice-enough things." Harry huffed slightly in agitation. "If they don't, I'll just have to owl-order something." He really didn't want to, though. Owl-ordering anything was always more expensive than going into a store and simply buying the desired item. Of course, that was because the owl—sometimes in the plural sense—had to deliver packages over a great distance, but Harry really hoped it wouldn't come to that. "Why can't Hogsmeade ever stock up on quality items? Or why can't some of the businesses in Diagon Alley branch out and put up shop here too? They have to know they'll get good business from the students…"

"Maybe," Tom agreed, "but their only real revenue would be on Hogsmeade weekends, and it's much more profitable for them to only keep one shop in Diagon and have all the students owl-order things so they can tack on the extra fee." Harry grumbled something about cheap businessmen to which Tom gave a slight chuckle. "Of course, there's always the option of being boring and getting Dmitry a book. You have before."

"Yes, but I don't want to _this _time," Harry grouched.

"And don't you have to get something for Abraxas too? I doubt he'll really appreciate anything from a second-hand store," Tom remarked. "Malfoys and their snobbish superiority, you know."

"Well, if I do end up getting him something from the store, it's not like I'll outright tell him. I'm not an idiot," Harry asserted. "Besides, if he happens to find out, the most he'll do is sniff distastefully and turn his back on it for all of five minutes before returning and accepting it with the utmost grace, ultimately enjoying it without _ever_ allowing anyone to know that it had a previous owner. And do you know why?" Harry shot Tom a cheeky grin and sing-songed, "Because I know what he _likes_."

Tom shook his head, smiling slightly before catching up to Harry, who was a few paces ahead, and taking the smaller boy's hand in his own. To Harry's inquisitive glance he replied, "Don't say 'not here' because there's no way I'm letting go." Harry purposefully looked away, concentrating on the road ahead, and Tom's smile softened at the faint trace of pink on Harry's cheeks; not a result of the wind.

Harry looked down at their entwined fingers and palms that fit so perfectly together and back up at Tom. "You're okay with someone seeing us?"

"What's there to see?" Tom shrugged. "If someone comes onto the street whom we know to be a student—a fact that shall be gleaned depending on whether or not they're wearing a Hogwarts uniform—we could easily let go of each other, but I don't think that will be much of a problem. None of the sheep we attend school with venture onto the back roads like this. They tend to stick to High Street where Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks are. Maybe some of the Gryffindors have come this way to seek adventure once or twice, but that dream has surely waned with the dull and utter blandness that exists back here." Tom stuck up his nose in a haughty impersonation of Abraxas. "And even so, I fail to see the problem with two friends holding hands. Abraxas and Orion do it all the time."

Harry's lips twitched in amusement. What Abraxas and Orion did wasn't exactly classified as holding hands at all. Really, the many scenes Tom was referring to were of Orion craftily attempting to link arms with an unhelpful Abraxas. _Occasionally_ the Malfoy heir would allow him to succeed and Orion would exuberantly lead the pair around, laughing gaily and showing off Abraxas as if he was to be the next "Lady Black." The performance would almost always end with a chilly smile from Abraxas followed by a hard smack to the back of Orion's head.

Even though the entire thing was an act that never changed, a broken record stuck on repeat, Abraxas indulged Orion's eccentricities because they were the very best of friends. Last year, after Slytherin had won the Quidditch Cup, when Orion was very, _very_ drunk, he promised his firstborn daughter to Abraxas' firstborn son. It was a hilarious sight to behold, Orion swaying and stumbling all over the place, shouting out the most outrageous of declarations alongside an equally sloshed Dmitry, and one Harry wasn't soon likely to forget. But still, Tom's version of _friendly_ handholding and Orion's version of arm holding were quite different in their meanings.

But he didn't care. Harry just gently squeezed Tom's hand and took a step closer to the taller boy. It was serene, walking together in the glittering snow with picturesque houses and shops lining either side of the road. The faint echo of conversations coming from two streets over where the majority of students were doing their shopping was the only intrusion on their peaceful stroll.

It made him so… _happy_, like this, with Tom. Harry's eyes swiveled to look at the aforementioned boy and a small, shy smile appeared on his face as a tender gaze met his own. It was such an uncharacteristic expression; Harry wanted to remember it forever. He was almost disappointed when Tom looked away; glancing first up the street, then back the way they came. When he returned his gaze to Harry's face, the younger almost stopped breathing as Tom quickly leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against Harry's lips. Tom pulled away again just as fast, and Harry was sure that he stumbled as his pace was broken and his brain stopped working.

"I'd have thought you'd have mastered the complex art of _walking_ by now, Harry," Tom remarked nonchalantly.

"Generally, I'm very good at it, you can ask anyone," Harry responded without missing a beat. He casually bumped his hip against Tom's, eliciting a smile as his reward. Harry looked forward and squinted slightly. "I think that's the store just up ahead."

Tom hummed and lightly ran his thumb up and down Harry's in his grasp. Harry didn't know if Tom was even completely aware of what he was doing, but he didn't comment on it. He was loath to admit it, but he was a sap deep down inside and quite enjoyed any sort of affection received from the older boy.

They reached the secondhand goods shop and reluctantly let go of each other, Tom opening the wooden door and holding it graciously for Harry. As each boy stepped through, the airy tinkling of a bell could be heard bouncing off the walls of the seemingly empty building.

Separating, Tom drifted off to scrutinize the various knick-knacks while Harry wandered over to the small collection of pocket watches he could see at the front near the register. It was just the sort of gaudy accessory Dmitry would love to show off at one of his grandmother's galas. Picking up one that looked as if it were made of bone, he held it close to his eyes so he could make out the details carved into the lid. The very center was cut out in a small circle and he could see the glass-covered face underneath. Around the ring was then carved each individual symbol of the zodiac. Harry turned it over in his hand, noting the floral design on the back, and popped open the lid. He had to be sure it could actually tell time and wasn't simply a costume piece. Thankfully, he wasn't disappointed, and the pocket watch fluidly ticked away.

"You have good taste," rasped a voice from his left. Had he been focusing all his attention on the timepiece in his hands, Harry would have probably jumped a foot in the air at the sudden interjection. As it was, he'd seen the older woman approaching from the back room behind the counter out of the corner of his eye and therefore wasn't too startled when she offered her opinion.

"How much?" he asked.

She seemed to think about it for a moment. "Well, ordinarily I'd say thirty galleons—" Harry mentally winced, "—but since I've had the thing for nearly as many years, and you have such a pretty face, I'll sell it to you for half."

Fifteen galleons was pushing it, _but_ Harry wasn't certain he'd find anything else in Hogsmeade Dmitry would like as much as the watch. The iconographic astrological images that decorated the lid's edge were definitely a plus, given how his was a family of Seer's and they prized anything with reference to Divination. After weighing it in his mind for a minute or two, Harry nodded. "Alright."

The woman smiled, revealing a full set of crooked, but clean, teeth and held out her hand. Harry relinquished the pocket watch and she wrapped it carefully for him as he dug in his bag for the appropriate amount of change. They traded, money for purchase, and Harry tucked the buy away in his pack. The woman retreated back into the shadows and Harry turned to go, but this time _did _recoil in alarm to find Tom less than a foot away.

"Gah!"

Tom raised his eyebrows incredulously. "How eloquently put."

Harry elbowed him out of the way in annoyance. "Don't sneak up on me then, if you don't want me spewing inarticulate nonsense."

"But Harry," Tom said silkily as they exited the store, returning to the biting cold, "your reactions are simply too entertaining for me to stop now." Harry nearly pouted, then realized what he was doing and caught himself just in time.

"Whatever. Is there someplace you want to go? I think I'm done for now. I'll either find Abraxas something after lunch and spirit it away to buy before he can see, or I'll just owl-order him something."

"Not really." Tom shrugged and gestured vaguely to the surrounding shops. "I suppose we could browse until it's time to meet for lunch."

Agreeing readily with the suggestion, Harry and Tom took off on their exciting journey. Many odd things with absolutely no use were seen—like the teapot with three spouts. Tom had quickly dismissed the ineffective pottery, and completely ignored Harry's valid point that it was much easier to fill three cups at once when there were three pathways for the tea to travel. They stopped in a menagerie briefly and had a couple conversations with the snakes—surreptitiously, of course, so the owner wouldn't notice—that ended with Tom purchasing a new type of treat for Nagini. Harry wasn't completely sure if Nagini would like them, and Tom was doubtful as well, but the other reptiles they'd met swore by the goodies.

Before they knew it, lunchtime rolled around and, with growling stomachs, they trudged up the hill to the popular bar.

The Three Broomsticks was just as crowded as Harry expected it to be. It was lunchtime, on a Saturday, and the pub had to cater to its usual customers along with the swarm of Hogwarts students. It was teeming with people, and Harry and Tom had to wade through the thick throng of standing and sitting patrons to reach the small table where Abraxas and Dmitry were located.

Tom gracefully slid into the booth and Harry claimed the spot next to him. "Where's Orion?" he asked at what he felt like was a near-yell to be heard over the rambunctious din.

Abraxas shrugged and swished a long lock of his hair over his shoulder. "Off somewhere. Probably with a girl. I think he's trying to sleep with the whole of the upper-years before this one is out." He frowned pensively. "I've no idea _why_. I just hope it doesn't end in another riot."

"I don't particularly care either way, as long as there are enough heartbroken women for me to console," Dmitry put with a cocky grin.

Abraxas grimaced, then turned to Dmitry with a sweet smile. "Thank you, Dmitry, for volunteering to buy _and retrieve_ our butterbeers. Be sure to get five. Orion _should_ be here… sometime… eventually…"

Harry sniggered at the wholly aghast expression on Dmitry's face. The Russian looked to the bar and the dense crowd separating their table from it and back to Abraxas. "No, no thank you. Not me. No way. Can't we just, I don't know, signal to Madame Tahlia, or something?"

"Not if you want to drink anything within the next hour or so," Harry pointed out as a sudden surge of customers mobbed the bar. "I wish the Hog's Head was of the same quality as this place. We could have gone there..." He didn't know why Aberforth didn't put more of an effort into keeping his bar clean. He'd probably receive a much higher profit if he did.

"Ugh, that place is _disgusting._ It definitely lives up to its namesake." Abraxas wrinkled his nose. "I think I might buy it once my father dies and leaves me with the Malfoy fortune. There's definitely money to be made there, and it's obvious the owner doesn't realize just what a gem he has. He'll probably sell once I flash, what, a _thousand_ galleons? I bet that's more than he makes in a year," Abraxas finished with a snort.

Dmitry gave a short laugh. "Put me down as co-owner and we can give him two thousand, in case he decides to act the part of a greedy bugger."

Abraxas raised a single perfect eyebrow. "I might consider it, if you would get up and go buy me a _drink_."

Harry and Tom laughed at Dmitry's hurt look. "Yes, Dmitry, I'm feeling rather parched myself," Harry stated cheerily. "So off you go. Chop, chop. You don't want to be forced to wait because they've temporarily gone through their stock, do you?"

Dmitry opened his mouth to respond when a colossal blast rocked the pub, shaking long-settled dust from the rafters down into now-forgotten meals. It froze everyone within The Three Broomsticks, shocking them to their very core. But when the shouts of fright and terror-filled screams began echoing down High Street into the small establishment, it was like someone hit play again.

It was pure chaos.

A good part of those inside were trying to escape out, feeling as if staying indoors would trap them and thereby doom them to whoever was attacking the village. And then there were some—mostly younger students—pushing against the crowd, believing that the trembling walls would somehow keep all the bad things at bay.

That wholesome though was quickly shattered like the window closest to the door as a violently purple spell shot through it and singed the wall it connected with.

Harry was only still for a moment, watching as if he were an outsider to it all, before shooting up, ready for action. His numerous surprise encounters with Death Eaters had ingrained in him a sense of calm in the pandemonium, allowing him to think clearly and come to the realization that the best place for him and his abilities was outside, protecting the students.

Or, it would have been, had not even a full second after he jumped up, Tom was pulling his elbow and bringing him back down. An effort Abraxas, who had lunged over the table and was pulling Harry's other arm back, assisted him in. Dmitry looked like he wanted to do nothing more than slink under the table and hide, but wouldn't go unless one of them went first.

"What do you think you're _doing_?"

Harry tried yanking his arms free, but both of the older boys only tightened their hold, digging their fingers in deeper. "Get off me!"

"No, don't be stupid—Harry, _stop_!" With one ferocious pull (and the unintentional help of a bulky man bumping into Harry as he tried to get by) Tom managed to drag him back into the booth.

"Tom—"

"_Don't_. Just, don't." Harry would have argued, but the petrified look swimming in Tom's eyes kept his mouth clamped shut. "Are you _stupid_? Do you _want_ to die?"

"I just—"

"No, you clearly aren't thinking straight. You aren't going _anywhere_. You're going to stay _right here_—you and Dmitry both. Abraxas and I will deal with the younger students over there and try to keep them from going outside."

Harry frowned. "And why can't I help—"

"You. Are. Not. A. _Prefect_." Tom enunciated, hitting each syllable hard. It was clear he was extremely on edge by the situation. He leaned in closer for a brief moment. "Please," he whispered, panic leaking into his voice. The symphony of sounds echoing around them dwindled down, and Harry felt as though he was hearing them from underwater. The only clear stream of words stemmed from Tom. "Promise me. Just… stay here. Where it's safe."

What could he say?

Harry simply nodded once, mute, and allowed himself to be shifted so Tom could get out of the booth. He watched tensely as the two Slytherin sixth year prefects weaved through the thinning crowd and began rounding up the younger students, checking them for injuries and attempting to calm them down.

Another gigantic _boom_ shook the pub, setting off another chorus of screams. The aftershocks did even more damage, shattering a couple more windows. Hazardous shards of glass flew through the air, landing in hair, on clothes, and bouncing off the floor. Harry's terrible luck grouped him with the small portion of those who happened to be cut by the jagged, broken bits of window. He barely felt the sting as a fragment of glass slashed open a small gash on his cheek. The only thing that alerted him to the fact he was injured was the tingling feeling as a small amount of blood trickled out, and Dmitry's swear as the Russian noticed Harry hadn't ducked along with him.

No longer was anyone trying to exit The Three Broomsticks. General consensus from those who were left seemed to be that it was much safer indoors than on the outside. That didn't mean that they assumed they were untouchable. Everyone was still extremely tense, which is why when the doors burst open and someone ran_ in_, Harry, along with a few others, was immediately on his feet with his wand pointed at the intruder and a Stupefy on the tip of his tongue before he recognized the person as Orion. A very dirty, bleeding, and frantic Orion, who was breathing hard. The Black heir stopped in the middle of the room. His frenzied eyes swiveled about until they rested on Tom and Abraxas; both of who also had wands trained on him.

"It's Grindelwald," he said. There was brief silence before a third year Ravenclaw shrieked and another let out a fearful sob, setting off a chain reaction of panicked mutterings and sniffles.

"But how?" Harry's gaze flicked to Madam Tahlia, whose normally rosy cheeks were a sickly pale. She was still standing behind her bar, and Harry didn't know if it was commendable that she hadn't run away like most of her patronage, or foolish that she hadn't moved a muscle to try and seal the building from the ruffians destroying Hogsmeade. "They shouldn't be here—Grindelwald's focus is on Europe!"

"It _was_ on Europe," Orion replied bitterly. "Not anymore, though, obviously."

"Is _He_ here?" One man called out from near the fireplace; probably there to use the floo, if Madam Tahlia kept any powder on the mantel.

Orion shook his head slowly. "I don't know. I didn't see him; but it's not like I was running about looking _specifically_ _for_ Grindelwald. As far as I could tell, it was just his followers." He snorted self-deprecatingly. "Not that that means they aren't doing their best to bring this town to the ground all on their own."

"What about the Aurors—"

"What about the teachers—"

"What about _Dumbledore?_" Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at the last one. Of _course_ it was a Gryffindor who voiced that hope. Although, privately he was hoping Dumbledore would arrive soon as well. As much as Harry disliked the meddling old man, Dumbledore was still an immensely powerful wizard. He was—or _would be—_the one who eventually defeated Grindelwald, and, while he didn't know exactly when it happened, Harry was dearly hoping that monumental occasion was today.

"That still doesn't explain why they've come _here_," Madame Tahlia broke in with a hysterical twinge to her speech. "We haven't gotten involved in his war on the continent; there's no reason for this attack."

"It probably has to do with the influx of refugees the Ministry's been accepting over the past few years," Abraxas called out with a grimace. "I've heard things from my father—he works at the Ministry and is rather close with the Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot. Grindelwald likely chose Hogsmeade because most people have chosen to settle around here, what with it not being completely safe in London at the moment because of the _muggles_," he said with a sneer. "This attack's probably just a message."

Harry glanced worriedly back at Dmitry. His friend was white and, if Harry looked close enough, he could see that the tips of Dmitry's fingers just visible beyond the cuff of his robes were trembling. With an uncle as ambassador to the Ministry of Magic and being sent to Hogwarts for an education instead of Durmstrang, it was highly likely that if his Russian friend were to cross paths with any of Grindlewald's followers, they wouldn't hesitate to capture, torture, and or kill him.

Harry turned back to Orion as the Black heir began answering another question shouted out from the terrified crowd when a movement from the shadows behind the boy caught his eye. The doors hadn't shut completely after Orion plowed through and, with everyone's attention rapt on him, no one noticed what was stepping over the threshold. Cloaked in grey with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows proudly emblazoned on his breast and gliding like a Dementor, came a man, stealthily and with a malicious grin. He was, without a doubt, one of Grindelwald's followers whom Orion was talking about—who he was _still _talking about. Harry's eyes darted around the room, locking on the faces of everyone still utterly riveted on Orion. Had no one seen the intruder? How could they not? He was _right there._

Maybe it was the position he was in that allowed him the fortuitous view, or maybe it was something else entirely; Harry didn't know, and he likely never would. What he _did_ know, however, were quite a few spells to take the creeping follower of the Dark Lord out of commission.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins, slowing time around him as he pushed himself up from the booth where he sat. Vaguely he registered Tom's head snap towards him from the corner of his eye, but Harry didn't have time for that. He raised his wand in sync with the man, who hadn't yet taken his hungry eyes off Orion's oblivious form.

The whole thing felt so surreal.

For the briefest of moments before Harry let fly his spell, as he watched his unknown target's eyes sparkle with hungry greed, he wondered in the back of his head _why_ Grindelwald's followers didn't wear masks. Surely they wouldn't want their identities known? He would have thought that, like Voldemort's Death Eaters, they would have strived to keep their faces a secret. Both followings actions were atrocious in nature, and both caused havoc and left immeasurable destruction in their wake.

And as he took a step forward, his mouth forming the words needed to easily put that coward in the doorway on his back, it came to him. The reason why; the one _pivotal_ _distinction_ that made all the difference between the two Dark Lords.

Voldemort may have had followers, but Grindelwald… he had an _army._

"STUPEFY!"

He heard it, Harry knew the word came from his own mouth, and yet it sounded so far away. With that single spell, the sluggish lag lifted and life sped up appropriately. A mighty jet of red light burst from his wand and flew directly over Orion's shoulder, lifting wisps of ebony hair as it passed, and slammed into the shocked man behind him with the power of a thunderbolt straight from the hand of Zeus. It lifted its victim and rammed him back through the double-doors from whence he came. One was taken with him as a souvenir.

Orion whipped around, wand out, and immediately was on high alert. A fresh round of distressed screams traveled through the bar, and Harry couldn't exactly blame them. He wasn't even allowed a moment of smug satisfaction for taking out one of Grindelwald's followers (or for how strong his spell was) as three more invaded the bar. And they weren't exactly joyous about their friend's unconscious disposition.

Without communicating in any way with one another, Tom and Abraxas moved forward to stand with Orion, taking on two of the men while Dmitry stood with haste to help Harry fight the third.

Even though they outnumbered the attackers, it was by no means an easy duel. Their opponents were older and much more experienced at killing and fighting in general for it to have been an effortless win. Harry was sure the only reason why he so quickly disabled the first man was because he blindsided him.

Belatedly, as he dove out of the way of a sickly yellow and venomously green corkscrewing curse, Harry wished that one of the few adults still in the building would help out. Or even one of the other students left over who knew a thing or two about how to duel. It would likely have made the take down that much quicker.

There was no time for him to see how Tom and the others were doing. Harry and Dmitry had their hands full with the incensed gorilla they were dealing with. It was a great annoyance to Harry that the hulking man seemed quite happy to use obscure curses he'd never heard of, which left him ducking and dodging more than actually casting back. He wasn't sure if a _Protego Horribilis_ would hold against them and he wasn't willing to test it on himself when the results could be catastrophically damaging.

Dmitry seemed to be standing his ground rather well. If he had to guess, Harry would say that the Russian's family had hired a private tutor to train him for situations like this one. It was the smart thing to do when there was a war going on.

"_Obsidieo Gulam_!" Harry shouted when he finally got a free shot. The other man threw up a shield, but that miniscule moment where he was put on defense allowed for Harry and Dmitry to finally switch to hard-hitting offensive tactics and pummel him with curses.

"_Conjnctivitus!"_

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Incendio!"_

"_Bombarda! Stupefy! Bombarda Maxima!"_

A millisecond after Harry launched his stronger _Bombarda_ at their opponent, Dmitry cried out, "_Durmir por Dias!"_ Harry's spell was the final hit that broke the man's shield, allowing Dmitry's midnight-blue curse to make contact with his chest. Harry watched in fascination as it cloaked the large man and was absorbed into his body, after which he immediately fell limp to the ground. Panting slightly, he glanced across the room at Tom's battle to see the Slytherin trio just finishing off the second of the pair.

Turning back to Dmitry, he grinned and asked, "What spell was that last one? I don't think we learned it in class."

Dmitry snorted in turn. "We wouldn't. It's on the Darker side of the spectrum, according to the English Ministry. It just makes whoever's hit with it to fall asleep from between three to five days. It's Dark because there is no counter curse and nothing will wake them before the time is up." He narrowed his eyes and a grin foxy in its slyness spread across his face. "And what about that spell you used, hmmm? Obsidi-something? I know for a _fact_ we haven't learned that one either."

Harry chuckled as he heard Abraxas conjuring ropes to bind their unconscious captives. "We might not have learned it in class, but it's in the library. You know, that place you tend to avoid like the plague? Too bad, really, because if you visited more often, like me, you might end up learning something like—"

He never finished. He wasn't allowed it. His fickle luck had taken a turn. He heard the movement in the brush outside, heard the spell chanted and knew immediately what was coming, not that it helped him any. There was no time to dodge, no time to escape the golden light before it hit him, cocooning around him and blocking the trashed pub from his sight. Blocking Dmitry's terrified face, Orion's anxious shouts, and Abraxas' frantic calls.

Nothing came from Tom.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Tom Riddle knew a lot of things.

He knew anger very well. He and rage were practically womb-mates. It was most often directed at the other children at the orphanage, and the staff who turned a blind eye unless complaints were coming from others _about _him. It was their fear of him, their fear of Harry, their fear of anything _different_ that ostracized him; that stewed up a bubbling inferno of hate within the bowels of his heart. But, really, what did they expect? He would never forget the horrid years he spent there at Wool's, few though they were, before Harry's arrival. Children could be uncommonly cruel. Without remorse.

He also knew pain, even if he didn't like to admit it. He knew what it was like to cause pain for others—though that generally fell more under the definition of pleased for him—and he knew what it was like to be hurt. Physically, the other children had done it to him time and time again at the orphanage. Harry would stand up for him, of course, and took many of the hits whenever the older kids came around thinking they could take out their jealousy on him with their fists, like barbarians; like _muggles. _That didn't stop them from occasionally getting a few blows in, however, and Tom wasn't above admitting that getting punched by someone twice your size hurt. A lot.

He knew happiness, and he knew joy. He might not show it all the time, but why should he? He wasn't some moronic Gryffindor who wore his heart on his sleeve. He knew the consequences of allowing others—others who would use it to their advantage—to see his more pleasant emotions. Everyone already knew he was fonder of Harry than any of the other Slytherins—any of the other _students, _really. Yet it was generally assumed the reason for his affections was because they grew up together. And Tom wasn't about to reveal to them any different.

And a small part of him, hidden mostly even from himself, was willing to admit that maybe, _just maybe,_ he knew love as well.

But this was the first time he knew fear. A paralyzing, _crippling_ fear that left him shaking. It stopped him from moving, stopped him from breathing, stopped him from _thinking_ and left him like a statue. Just as petrified as the students he sacrificed to the basilisk.

It was the first time he hated himself.

Watching the golden light envelop Harry and being unable to _do anything._ Seeing the three-dimentionalized rune links knotting themselves together over its milky, luminescent surface surrounding Harry—_his Harry—_and just standing there, stupidly, frozen, and doing _nothing_ to stop it opened a floodgate for self-loathing to fill his entire being. If only he could read the damn symbols, he might be able to figure out what was going on, figure out how to stop the spell… But no, the blasted chains were circling the spherical orb too quickly for him to pick out anything other than _one,_ which resembled Raido.

But it could also be Wunjo…

And only knowing a single rune out of the _extremely_ complex sequence, while not even being completely certain of it, meant there wasn't a _single_ thing he could do within his power to stop it.

And the only thing that kept him from immediately going after that _iniquitous_ _mudblood girl_ _from_ _Hufflepuff_ who was crouched in the bushes outside the broken window and _Crucioing_ her until she was nothing but a drooling _husk_, was that, when the light dispersed in a blinding display that had him shielding his eyes, Harry was still there.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>_Ack… Sorry if you felt the chapter was too fluffy at parts. I couldn't help myself… Well, now that I've gotten this chapter out, hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently than a year and a half to two years. I really didn't mean for that to happen… I don't know why, exactly, but this chapter was just notoriously difficult for me to write… for whatever reason… Anywhoop, hope you liked it, sorry if you didn't. (I had to edit it very quickly so I wouldn't be able to convince myself that it needed to be rewritten... again...)_


	12. Chapter 12

_Clocks slay time. Time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels. Only when the clock stops does time come to life. –_William Faulkner

Magic surrounded him on every side.

The notion of escaping from the thick-walled sphere didn't even cross Harry's mind. He was trapped, completely and utterly; caged in by unyielding golden light, ironically of his own design.

He knew the spell. He'd created it, which is why he knew there was no crack in the solid walls of glowing magic to be exploited.

Granted, Harry had no idea that the spell would actually _work_, at any level, if used. It was still in its prototype stages, a baby in its own right. It was only a fantasy he'd had. A dream. It was just a few words; a Latin phrase he'd strung together. Harry wasn't even sure if the expressions he'd used were _correct_ in their placement. He was in no way fluent in Latin, and he hadn't checked it with any linguistics experts or wizards who made their living off the creation of spells. He hadn't tested it either (on inanimate objects or harmless bunnies) in any way to see if the spell was even within the _realm_ of doing what it was supposed to. It was, for all intents and purposes, merely a thought he'd put to parchment.

An idea to open a pathway home.

And now, because some random person had stumbled across his spell—Harry was beyond clueless as to _how_—he was probably being catapulted through the fabric of time and space; optimistically, back to his original time. It would be terrible (but not entirely unlikely) if he ended up trapped even further in the past, or overshot his future.

Magic pulsed and rushed through the air around him. Harry closed his eyes and sighed, his whole posture screaming defeat. He didn't want to go back. He wasn't ready. This was his home now, in the past, with Tom and Dmitry and Abraxas and Orion, until he was forced to return to his present (lest a universe-collapsing paradox be born).

It was too soon.

The light of the spell surrounding him began to grow brighter and brighter, signaling its end, until Harry had to close his eyes and shield them with his arm as it reached the brilliant intensity of the sun. Then, suddenly, with a great _whoosh_ of air that that left a ringing in his ears, the spell dissipated and everything beyond his eyelids settled into darkness again.

Harry really didn't want to open his eyes. He was extremely apprehensive about what he may or may not see when he did. However, he wasn't sorted Gryffindor for nothing, even if he was a Slytherin now. Mustering up all the courage he could find within and ignoring the churning waves of despair in his stomach, he lowered his arm and wretched open his eyes in one move.

He didn't even have time to blink before a slightly larger body slammed into him, entrapping Harry in a hug tighter than an anacondas grip. He choked for air and swore he felt his eyes pop out of their sockets. Muffled Russian phrases reached his ear, and Harry paused in his attempts at regaining full use of his airways to actually observe his surroundings, a small sliver of hope blossoming within.

His very familiar surroundings...

He was still here! Where he should be, in the past! The spell hadn't worked after all. Harry didn't even spare that thought a moment of disappointment. The spell's failure meant he needed to take it back to the drawing board, and for that, he was glad. He was eternally grateful that it had failed. Harry _had_ thought it strange that the spell would work the first time it was ever used. It would have been one of those one-in-a-million chances.

Harry relaxed further into Dmitry's embrace, then immediately stiffened again. He snapped his head to the side so fast his neck cracked and the world spun for the briefest of moments before his vision settled.

Viridian eyes searched out the hedges through the broken window of the pub where the spell had flown in from, and settled on the face of an unknown Hufflepuff girl. She looked to be around the same age as him, but he couldn't recall having ever seen her in any of his classes. Harry assumed she was a year older, given the power necessary to get that particular spell to do _anything,_ even if it was only the light show she _had _caused.

He memorized every detail of her face. It was necessary in order to pick her out of the crowd later, when Harry could find her and question her _thoroughly_ about _how _and _why_ she used _that spell_ against him. In the brief seconds that he etched her face into his memory, Harry noted the deep despair in her eyes. Despair that she had _failed_, he was sure, but that anguish was quickly replaced by obvious fear when she realized he was looking directly at her.

She jumped up and ran off, to where exactly, Harry knew not, but it didn't matter. He'd find her when they made it back to the school.

"Harry?"

Hearing his name brought him back to reality and he turned his head back to meet two deep, ice-blue pools filled with concern.

"Are you alright?"

"He might be once you let him go and allow him to _breathe_," Abraxas said, smoothly picking himself over the rubble to get to the embracing pair. His demeanor was calm, but the slight tremor in his voice gave away just how shaken he truly was by what had just occurred.

"We should probably get him to the hospital wing," Orion added hesitantly, eyeing Harry up and down as if he could identify with naked vision alone any ailment that plagued the bespectacled fifth year.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Dmitry frowned. "The fight might be done in here, but it sounds like it's still going strong out there." He gestured vaguely towards the symphony of battle sounds drifting through the destroyed walls of the pub. Harry sincerely hoped they wouldn't have to pay for damages.

Tom, who had been standing, unblinkingly as if in a trance off to the side, stepped forward and raised his wand. "Move." His commanding tone left no room for arguments, and Dmitry hurriedly complied with the order. Harry stiffened ever so slightly but stayed perfectly still. He recognized the complicated movements of Tom's wand and the chanted incantation he was saying. He'd heard it far too many times to count during his many trips to the hospital wing.

It took a full minute and the end of Tom's wand turning blue for the older boy to be somewhat satisfied with Harry's current health.

"He should still visit the hospital wing," Orion maintained as Tom tucked his wand away, but then immediately clammed up when Tom's frigid glare was directed his way.

"Of course he has to go to the hospital wing," Tom snarled, the tone of his voice belaying a barely contained fury. "But it's like Dmitry said; there is no conceivable way to reach the hospital wing with the destruction going on out there. So, forgive me, _Black_, if I simply wanted to make _absolutely sure _Harry didn't obtain an _easily fixable_ yet simultaneously _detrimental_ injury from whatever _spell_ that was."

Orion flinched backwards and muttered an apology. Tom's only indication of acknowledgement was the slight relaxing of his harshly furrowed brows.

Harry took a moment to survey the silent patrons left in The Three Broomsticks. All of them had their attention directed his way with various ranges of horror and surprise frozen on their faces. He couldn't blame them. He was sure if he had been a witness, he would look exactly the same. In fact, he wished he could relay on his face exactly how distressed he was. But no matter how petrified, weary, or how much he felt like breaking down completely, he couldn't. Harry learned his lesson the first time around, during his life in the future.

Cracks of apparition sounded outside and one of the older students standing back in the crowd sagged in relief. "It's the Ministry. The Aurors are here!"

"Or it's more reinforcements for Grindelwald's forces," Tom sneered, ever the pessimist, at the girl, who shrunk into herself at his poisonous glare.

"Tom." The older boy's head whipped around to meet Harry's eyes. Harry gave a small shake of his head, and Tom's eyes narrowed, lips thinning, before he huffed and crossed his arms. He wouldn't spit out rude comments anymore, hopefully, but Harry could tell by his rigid stance that it would be a difficult task to carry out.

Two scarlet-robed wizards burst through the utterly destroyed doors, only to have nearly every wand in the place directed their way before the startled people realized they were Aurors.

"Whoa, there," the taller of the two, a bearded man with thick, dark hair said quickly, holding both his hands up in front of him to placate the frightened crowd he was faced with. "Everybody just calm down. We aren't here to hurt you we're simply trying to be sure everyone in here's safe and unharmed."

"The place looks a wreck from outside," the other man, a blonde, agreed to prove their good intentions, although the way he was surveying his surroundings made it clear that he thought the interior fared no better.

"We're all fine, I think," Madam Tahlia said shakily. She was still behind her bar, though she was further down now from where the dueling had been going on. She pointed towards Harry's group of friends. "Those boys protected us when those men," her finger gestured towards Grindelwald's unconscious followers (the Aurors wands were immediately out and reinforcing the bindings on the three villains), "attacked." She bit her bottom lip, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "They won, as you can see, but then a spell came through one of my broken windows from outside and hit the boy with glasses. He seems fine, but should probably be seen by a healer. His friend performed a standard Healer check, level three, and no symptoms showed themselves, but they could always just be dormant for the time being."

Harry's hand twitched at the implication.

The dark-haired Auror turned towards the group of Slytherins and raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised that it was members of the House of Snakes and all things evil who had defended against Grindelwald's muggle-hating minions.

"There's still a bit of riff-raff that's being rounded up out there," he said directly to Harry, "and even then there's quite a mess that needs to be tidied up. However, I must ask, _did_ you get hit by a wayward spell?"

Harry gave a stiff nod.

"Do you know which one it was?"

"No." Harry couldn't tell them the _truth._

"Right then. Travers!" he barked. The second Auror stepped forward.

"Yes, sir?"

"Use a piece of this rubble to make the boy a portkey directly to the gates of Hogwarts. It's like Madame Tahlia said—" he gave the barista a cheeky wink that didn't fit well with the ominous situation, "—we wouldn't want him to suddenly drop dead due to hidden symptoms manifesting undetected. That would mean more paperwork."

Travers nodded his agreement and came towards Harry, summoning a chunk of broken wall to him as he walked.

"You can take one friend with you," he said when he was in front of Harry, "in case you have sudden complications. Someone from the Department will come by the hospital wing later to question you and whoever tags along. It's standard procedure, especially in cases where citizen arrests are made."

"Alright," Harry agreed easily. There was no point in arguing. His gaze shifted to Tom and the other boy stepped forward.

Auror Travers noticed and pointed his wand at the debris in his hand. "Portus. There. It should do its job fine. You three," he swung his arm to incorporate Dmitry, Abraxas, and Orion, then pointed towards the bar, "go stand over there and wait for me or my partner for questioning." They complied immediately, though Dmitry seemed more reluctant and kept sending worry-filled glances back at Harry.

Tom stepped over an upturned chair to stand next to Harry. He took the younger boy's elbow firmly in his grasp, and at Harry's questioning gaze he mumbled, "In case you're too weak to travel by portkey. It would be bad for you to lose consciousness and let go during the trip."

Harry rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He was mildly insulted, but not enough so to make a scene. Tom was coming from a good place, and if allowing the older boy this small action would pacify his stewing panic, then Harry would permit it.

"That's a good idea," Travers broke in. Harry frowned at the Auror for having listened in, but if the man noticed, he ignored it. "Here's the portkey. Once you take it, you're gone."

"Understood," Tom responded. He looked at Harry. "You ready?"

"Yes." With Harry's positive answer, Tom reached out and plucked the piece of wall from Auror Travers' outstretched palm. Immediately, Harry felt the nauseating sensation of portkey travel take hold and turn his stomach. Colors whizzed by in a blur and, seconds after they started, the sickening trip was over and the wrought iron gates of Hogwarts stood tall in front of the duo. Tom's hold on his arm kept Harry from falling over as he usually did during most forms of magical travel, but he still stumbled when they landed.

"Let's go." Tom wasted no time in dragging Harry towards the castle. The grounds were eerily silent and completely deserted. Harry thought it was odd, seeing the peaceful serenity of the school when they had just come from the wreckage in Hogsmeade. Of course, that picture was completely shattered when he turned his head back and saw the dark pillars of smoke rising in the distance where he knew the wizarding village to be.

As they approached the entrance to the school, the heavy oak doors opened with more speed than Harry ever expected them capable of, and Professor Slughorn emerged. His frantic mien became even more distressed when he saw exactly _who_ was standing on the castles threshold.

"Oh my goodness—you boys—Hogsmeade—what's happened?" Slughorn stuttered out stumbling over his words.

Tom was blunt and to the point. "As I'm sure you could tell, Professor, Hogsmeade fell under attack. Harry was hit by a spell and an Auror created a portkey to take us back to the castle."

"Mr. Evans was? Are you alright?" Slughorn asked, full of concern for his student.

"I feel fine," Harry responded, "but everyone still wants me to see the nurse. I don't mind though," he added quickly at the darkening expression on Tom's face. "I agree that I should probably get a quick check to be sure I truly am healthy."

"Quite right, quite right." Slughorn's head bobbed up and down with each word. "I would accompany you to the hospital wing myself, but, ehm…" He gave a small cough out of nervousness. "I'm supposed to stay here; see if any students show up. Orders of course, from Headmaster Dippet. He and most of the faculty rushed off to Hogsmeade the second wind of the attack reached our ears. Terrible, terrible thing, isn't it?" he said, more to himself than to Harry and Tom.

"Of course, Professor," Tom concurred out of politeness. "However, we really should get going…" He drifted off, not needing to restate his mission. It seemed to snap Slughorn out of whatever thought he'd been having and back to reality with a start.

"Ah yes, off you go, then. The younger students have been ordered to and confined in their Houses, so you shouldn't be impeded along the way." Tom inclined his head in thanks and ushered Harry up the stone steps and past the Potions Professor. They reached the grand staircase quickly enough, and continued on towards the hospital wing. Though they saw not a single student or teacher on their silent trek, the inquisitive eyes of portraits and hushed whispers murmured by the painted figures followed the duo for the entire journey.

As they rounded the corner into the hall where the hospital wing was located, a faint commotion reached their ears from the end of the corridor through the closed doors of the medical area. Tom, who hadn't let go of Harry's arm the whole time they'd been walking, pushed open one of the doors when they reached it. The sight that greeted the two was a very harassed Hogwarts medi-witch and what could only be extra help in the form of healers sent over from (Harry assumed) St. Mungo's.

"First petrifications, now an assault by Grindelwald… Merlin help us against whatever vile attack this school is faced with next!" Madam O'Brien, assistant to Hogwarts' Healer, groused as she fluttered around the room, preparing for the onslaught of injured that would be arriving soon.

"What are you two doing here?" A Healer had caught sight of Harry and Tom hovering in the doorway and came striding over. She pursed his lips and narrowed her eyes at the two, clearly thinking they were up to no good, and placed her hands on her hips. "Shouldn't you be in your common rooms?"

Tom glared daggers at the woman. "We've just come from Hogsmeade." Harry didn't fault the Healer for her mistake. Neither of them looked injured. They were just extremely dusty from being knocked around in their duels.

Tom's statement rang throughout the room and froze everyone inside for a split second. Harry was sure the older boy was thoroughly enjoying the look of horrified shock on the face of the Healer in front of them, if the smug air rolling off the older boy in waves was anything to go by.

"Mr. Riddle, Mr. Evans!" Madam O'Brien rushed over. "Are you two alright?" She didn't wait for a response and started waving her wand in intricate patterns at Harry, chanting under her breath. The flabbergasted Healer began doing the same to Tom, though she looked a bit like she'd swallowed a lemon and would rather not.

"I'm fine," Tom stated, confidently. His eyes flicked to Harry, and his piercing gaze made the tiny hairs on the back of the younger boy's neck stand up. Or maybe it was the magic from Madam O'Brien's spell. Harry couldn't be sure. "Harry and I—and Abraxas Malfoy, Orion Black, and Dmitry Volynski—ended up getting in a duel with a few of Grindelwald's followers."

Gasps were heard all around the room and the Healer, who had slacked in her checking for harmful magic on Tom after his first declaration, began again with renewed fervor.

"We all made it through without any lasting damage," Tom assured quickly, not liking the converging mass of Healers that headed their way once he spoke of the duel. "Any wounds we did receive were superficial. Harry's the one with the problem." All eyes turned towards the younger boy, and Harry ground his teeth at the attention. "We were in The Three Broomsticks when the attack began, and some of the windows were shattered by stray spells. The five of us finished our duels, coming out on top, when another spell—one completely unrecognizable to any of us there—came through from outside and struck Harry. It was yellow, and a golden sphere encased him, with chains of ruins circling the orb. We couldn't see him inside, and it was impenetrable, as far as I could tell, because Dmitry began casting anything he could at it to break its shell. But he didn't get to try everything in his vast repertoire because it only lasted… well, I'm not sure, to be honest, but it wasn't for too long."

By the end of his story, everyone in the room was frowning. Madam O'Brien's brows were also furrowed in concentration as she continued waving her wand over Harry. "There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with him that the scans can pick up… But that doesn't mean he won't start showing something later."

"Should we give him a potion?" a male Healer asked from the back. Clearly Harry's nonexistent medical condition was of great interest to everyone there. He understood, though, from an academic standpoint. They were Healers, and he'd been hit with a spell none of them could identify.

The Healer who had been attending Tom barked out a short, condescending laugh. "And what potion do you suggest, Michael? He shows no symptoms. Are you trying to poison him?"

Healer Michael's frown deepened and changed from thoughtful to indignant, but he said nothing more.

"I don't think there's really anything we can do for him, at the time being…" Madam O'Brien pronounced slowly. "You said the ball of light surrounding him was covered in runes? Did you happen to see any of them? It might help us determine what the spell was supposed to do, and therefore, any concealed symptoms."

"Not really," Tom admitted, internally berating himself. "They were moving incredibly fast in their paths around the sphere. I was only able to catch one, and I'm still not one hundred percent certain it's correct. It looked like the symbol for either Raido or Wunjo."

"Raido or Wunjo..." another female Healer repeated slowly from her place between two beds. "Well, we can't determine anything from a single rune, and certainly not from either of those. In order to figure out what's wrong with him, definitively, we'd need at least five in the chain."

"If there's really anything wrong with him at all," Healer Michael pointed out. "And do you honestly think we'd be able to glean anything from just _five?_ Did you hear _nothing_ the other boy said? Whatever the smaller one—" Harry glowered at the slight to his height, "—was hit with was an _extremely_ complex spell. Double that number of runes you pulled from _thin air_, and maybe, _just maybe,_ you might have been able to get somewhere. Especially since there were multiple chains." He looked to Tom quickly for conformation, which was given. "And since there were multiple chains, it could be that only one of them was the main action the spell was supposed to take, and the others simply amplified it in some way."

"Or nullified it, since he shows no symptoms," put the woman, logically.

"Or made it so that the victim _appears_ fine but symptoms manifest later in the most devastating way, which is why _I_ would like to keep you, Mr. Evans, overnight for observation," Collin Mitchell (current Healer under the employ of Hogwarts) said, stepping out of his office and cutting through the other Healers debate. "Unfortunately, seeing as how there's nothing wrong with you _now_, and we haven't got any extra beds to share, thanks to the _illustrious_ malefactor who thought it a _marvelous_ idea to petrify your classmates this year, you should go down to the Great Hall, where I've been informed they are to gather the Hogsmeade students, and wait there until I send Madam O'Brien to fetch you. I don't want you, Mr. Evans, or Mr. Riddle crowding my hospital wing. There will be enough of it from the injured."

"Yes, sir," Harry and Tom said at the same time.

"Good. After all, Mr. Evans," the corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry half-grin, "If my assistant, Madam O'Brien, is correct and your symptoms are only delayed in appearing…" Healer Mitchell snorted cynically. "Let's just say you better hope the rune Mr. Riddle saw _was_ Wunjo, and all you'll experience is heightened feelings of joy or bliss. Unless it was paired with another rune or two to inflict negative emotions of depression and whatnot—which seems likely, since it was used in the midst of battle."

Healer Mitchell stroked his short goatee in a pondering sort of way. "Realistically, and unluckily for you, what Mr. Riddle probably saw was _Raido_; the rune of transportation. Which is why we want you here for observation," Healer Mitchell said with a hearty laugh that didn't seem appropriate for such a serious declaration. "It would be terrible if it activated later and your innards all disappeared somewhere else."

Harry's mouth stretched in a tense grin that was really more like a grimace. He hadn't thought of that. _Oh please, Merlin, don't let that happen…_

A low rumble of noise could be heard coming from the bowels of the castle and drifting through the door Tom and Harry had left open. Everyone in the room stood up straighter. "Right, then. Shoo, you two. We have work to do," Healer Mitchell announced, and Madam O'Brien ushered the two out of the room.

"Oh." Harry turned back around for a brief moment. "Madam O'Brien?" She tilted her head to the side and motioned for him to continue. "I think there might be an Auror who shows up here sometime; to question Tom and me. It's about the men we dueled. The man who made our portkey was saying something about protocol, I think. If he does show up, could you just direct him down to the Great Hall?"

She gave a single, sharp nod. "Of course. Now, off you go. And good luck. I really hope I'm mistaken about all this and there truly isn't anything wrong with you… But one can never be too careful, and we, as Hogwarts medical staff, would be in for a terrible lawsuit if something grievous _were_ to present itself."

Harry sent the fretting woman a warm smile. He'd always liked her from the few interactions they'd shared. "I understand."

"Good."

The two Slytherin boys turned and headed back down the way they came. This time, however, the walk was much louder, due to the fact that people had begun arriving. They passed a fair few injured on the way.

And then, out of the blue, "I saw who hit you. With the spell." Tom's voice was quiet, but so unexpected that Harry jolted to a halt.

"What?" It was the only word he could formulate, his mind moving a million miles a second.

A teacher came hurrying around the corner, two stretchers carrying two unconscious students levitating before her. Tom and Harry moved from the center of the corridor, out of her way, and into an unused classroom once she passed.

When the door was shut, Tom turned back to Harry and repeated what he said. "I saw who shot the spell at you, back in Hogsmeade. I know who did it." Pure, unadulterated hatred seeped from his voice, making Harry take a small step back.

"You… Know who did it?" Harry restated tentatively. _That_ wasn't good. Harry didn't need Tom going off and avenging him before he could question the girl, or worse, questioning her _himself._

Tom clenched his jaw. "_Yesss._ I saw her, that filthy little _mudblood._ That _loathsome,_ insignificant _Hufflepuff._ Her _name _is Alexandria Moore. We're in the same year. I'd recognize her _repulsive_ face anywhere." He gave a rather terrifying grin, showing all his teeth. "I've yet to repay her for spilling a bag of compost on my robes in Herbology, but now I think I have sufficient reason to do that and more to the _pathetic_ waste of air. She'll be _begging_ for me to kill her once I'm through teaching her _not to touch what's mine._"

Okay, that wasn't good. Evil intent oozed from Tom's every pore. Harry had to find a way to calm him down before he went off and did something drastic—like torturing the girl until she was suicidal. He had no fond feelings for her—that was to be sure—but Harry was _trying_ to keep Tom from becoming a mass-murdering megalomaniac. He'd been unable to stop the deliberate killing of Tom's muggle father, but he'd do his best to curb Tom's unnecessary homicidal urges in this one case (even if a part of Harry really wanted to see her hurt in some way, too).

"I want to be there when you question her." Harry figured the first chance they'd have at questioning Moore was after the Yule break, and he had the entirety of it to calm Tom down until the elder's fury was sedated well enough. Trying to do so now would only cause a large and unnecessary blow-up.

"Fine," Tom said tightly, malice swirling in his eyes. "I suppose it's your right to be there, to hear from the whore's own lips why she tried to do away with you."

"You don't know for sure that's what her purpose was," Harry put, in vain. It didn't even sound convincing to his own ears.

"_Of course that's what she meant to do,"_ Tom hissed out furiously in parseltongue, taking a menacing step forward and balling his hands into fists. "She meant to _hurt _you, Harry. That's the only reason why she would have hit you with a spell and run away afterwards, _like a bloody coward._"

"Alright, alright." Harry put both his hands up, palms facing out, to try and placate Tom. They weren't going to get anywhere by staying on this topic, so it was time to move on. "I understand that you're upset, _I'm _upset, but you need to calm down. We need to get down to the Great Hall. We can't stay here—no matter how much I'd like to. Someone will come looking for us eventually, and after a day like today, we'd probably end up receiving detention all break long or have a large amount of House points deducted, or something."

Tom was breathing heavily through his nose, his nostrils flared out in rage, but Harry could see him beginning to make an effort to stow his anger away, for the time being. In an attempt to speed up the process, he moved forward and placed a hand on Tom's cheek, stroking in softly with his thumb. Harry tilted his head and stood on his tiptoes to meet Tom's mouth with his own. Their kiss was slow and gentle, passionate and burning. Desire bubbled in Harry's stomach as he used his lips convey that want and to erase Tom's tension; to reassure the distressed boy that he was fine.

Harry pulled away, ending the kiss sooner than he would have liked. They couldn't stay in the room any longer.

"Come on, let's go."

The entrance hall was wall-to-wall packed with people, but there appeared to be a sort of system in place that people were following. Each student, if Harry understood correctly, was stopping at a teacher before being directed towards either the Great Hall or the hospital wing. It seemed easy enough. He and Tom weaved through the congested crowd and came to a stop behind Professor Slughorn, who looked to be in charge of the organized chaos. Tom tapped the portly man on the shoulder and he turned, relief flooding his features.

"Oh, you two. I trust everything turned out alright, since you're both back down here?"

"They couldn't find anything wrong with either of us, but they want Harry to spend the night in the wing for observational purposes," Tom relayed, emotionlessly, as if on autopilot. "Healer Mitchell said he'd send Madam O'Brien down once everything's calmed down on his end."

Anxiousness once again overtook Professor Slughorn's face and made him look much older than he was. Pity filled his eyes, and he directed it Harry's way, something the younger boy really wished the professor wouldn't do. It made him rather uncomfortable.

"I see." Professor Slughorn scanned the parchment he was holding and made two slashes on it with his quill. "Alright then. I've marked it down here. Damn useful for keeping track of the students, this is. I really must thank Hector when this miserable circus is over. A drink at the pub, I think would be good." He turned back to the crowd of waiting students in various degrees of emotional turmoil, and Harry and Tom eased into the mass of their peers entering the Great Hall. Once inside, it was much easier to make their way over to their House table.

The din was deafening and the wails of many students didn't help lessen it any. If he stayed here very long, like Harry thought was to be the case, then the only symptom that would present itself when he was scanned upon his return to the hospital wing would be a massive migraine.

They neared the Slytherin table where most of their housemates looked quite shaken by the traumatic event, but were holding up well. There was no distraught sobbing coming from a single member of the House of Serpents, but a fair few number of the third-years were pale and shaking.

Harry scanned the table quickly for his friends. He caught sight of Dmitry sitting with Abraxas and Orion at the same time the Russian saw him. Dmitry's shoulders sagged and hope painted itself across his face; as if Harry's mere uninjured appearance in the Hall was enough to assuage any and every fear he ever held. Dmitry gestured for Harry and Tom to come over. The duo did, and space was made for them to sit.

"How are you?" Dmitry questioned once Harry was within easy earshot.

"I feel fine," Harry said with a shrug. Really, what else _could_ he say?

"They're going to keep him in the hospital wing overnight, though, just in case," Tom added.

Harry scowled and quickly reassured, "But I'll be fine. Since nothing life-threateningly terrible has occurred yet, I doubt anything will happen later."

"Unless there's a time-delay, like with the first, ah, _victim _of the petrification attacks," Orion said, carefully choosing his words lest they were overheard by unwanted ears. "Everyone was at dinner when the disillusionment spell dropped and her body was able to be seen, which is why there were, and still are, no suspects. Such a thing isn't completely unheard of during battles. Though the aftermath is usually the victim's body exploding, which significantly damages the area he or she is in. Generally it's a hospital or a Ministry office. Somewhere important like that." Orion's mind caught up with his mouth, and he hastily backtracked. "Of course, I'm not saying that will happen you you. I'm sure if they meant for you to blow up, your body would already be stuck to the walls."

"Right… What happened with you lot after Tom and I left?" Harry quickly changed the subject from his health. It was nice that people cared, but he didn't need to constantly hear how he might die later and just didn't know it _now_.

"Nothing too exciting, really," Abraxas said, jumping into the conversation before Orion could put his other foot in his mouth. "With the arrival of the Aurors, Grindelwald's forces began making their escape. Some were captured, many weren't. Apparently the teachers had come to help in the fight, but they were stuck down on the other end of the village and were trying to get as many students off the main street as they could."

"Which was good for _those_ students, but not for everyone else stuck past Zonko's," Dmitry added dryly. "Like us."

Orion nodded. "Thankfully not many of people were _grievously_ injured, I think. Only some had to be levitated away on stretchers. I saw one girl portkeyed away to St. Mungo's. But there were still a lot of others with minor cuts and bruises and broken limbs. Luckily, those can be healed quite quickly."

"That's good, I guess," Harry admitted, glad that injuries were minimal.

"Why have they shepherded us into the Great Hall?" Tom inquired. "The first and second-years and anyone else who stayed at the castle are all in their dorms, shouldn't we be there too?"

"I'm not too sure," Abraxas began, "but if I had to guess, I'd say it's so they know exactly who's where and can find any student easily, if need be. It might be difficult if suddenly they needed one of us but they didn't know if we were in our common room, on our way there, or had snuck off to do whatever else it is we wanted to do."

"They'll probably escort us to our common rooms once they've finished taking inventory of us all," Orion added, halfheartedly. "Though, I must say, if they're going to keep us corralled in here, the least they could do is provide some food—"

Orion was cut off from complaining as a large silver platter full of sandwich halves materialized in front of him with a small _pop._ The people around the five stopped and glanced over at the source of the sound with varying ranges of jealousy. Their envy was soon quelled, however, when similar _pops_ were heard up and down the table and around the rest of the Great Hall as well.

Orion was overjoyed, if the look of extreme delight plastered across his face was anything to go by. "Wonderful!" He picked up a sandwich and took a bite. "I _love_ house elves."

"As do I," Dmitry agreed, mimicking Orion's actions. Harry took a sandwich as well, not realizing just how hungry he was until Orion brought it up. The excitement in the village had caused them to miss lunch, and his empty stomach was beginning to remind him of that fact.

"What did you tell the Aurors?" Tom asked once everyone had eaten at least one of the delicious morsels and was going back for seconds. "Exactly what happened, or were there any details you thought were better _forgotten._"

"Not really. It didn't seem like they cared too much about the _details_ of how we got to the point in time where they stormed the building," Abraxas informed. "We each had to be questioned separately—"

"Which was weird," Orion interrupted. "I don't know why—"

"—BUT they only wanted to know the basics of what happened and such," Abraxas continued, shooting Orion a silencing glare. "They wanted to know what spells we used and that sort of stuff. They weren't interested in every move we made. They wanted to know how we came to be in the pub to begin with, though that point was rather obvious and unexciting, save for Orion's _grand_ entrance." He rolled his eyes while Orion beamed at the accurate description of his arrival on the scene.

Harry's mouth turned down as his eyes narrowed at the Black heir. "You were late to lunch," he reminded, and Orion's self-important smile dimmed. "Please don't tell me it was because you were off charming _another_ woman, or if you were, _please_ don't tell me it was one you haven't yet wooed?"

"Eheh, well, you see," Orion looked around nervously. "I mean; it's not like I _recently _'wooed her.' But, uhm, we hadn't before gone on any sort of outing that could be considered a 'date,' exactly…"

Harry remained unimpressed. "And what about that girl, the—oh, gosh, who was it? The… Ravenclaw prefect?" He looked to Tom, who gave a smirk and a nod in return, and whirled back to Orion. "You were with _her_ just last night, weren't you? Are you _trying _to instigate a catfight that will have your name solidified _infamously_ in _Hogwarts, A History_?"

"Well it's not like Celia and I are together, and she knew we were just having a bit of fun," Orion defended helplessly.

"I have to agree with Harry on this point," Abraxas said. "I don't know what's happened to cause you to seek solace with every female Hogwarts has to offer, but it's unseemly. It is not the actions you should be taking. Think of the disgrace that would be brought upon your family and your name. It will only cause problems for you in the future, both while you're in school and later in life. So, until you deem it time to inform me or any one of _us_ what has happened to cause such lewd behaviour, I suggest you find another pastime," Abraxas finished with a disgusted sniff. "Like Exploding Snap."

Orion's face was twisted in an odd expression and he looked as though he were trying to find the right words, but all powers of speech had deserted him for the moment. The air around the five was suddenly filled with a thick, heavy tension that Harry desperately wished someone would break. He regretted bringing up Orion's tardiness now that Abraxas had used it to scold the other sixth-year. It made for an incredibly uncomfortable setting.

"So, Orion, you said your family has an estate in Russia?" Dmitry awkwardly began. Harry could have kissed him.

"Yes. It's been in the family for a few generations."

"Are you going to be visiting this break? We could meet up…" And so began the new conversation, thanks solely to Dmitry, that brought everyone's attentions away from Orion's scandalous activities and onto the topic of what they were doing over the Yule break. Harry and Tom couldn't much contribute to the discussion since there wasn't much of anything interesting to be done at Hogwarts, but Harry enjoyed listening to his friends plans and inserting his opinion here and there.

"Excuse me?" Harry turned around in his seat and saw the tall, bearded Auror from The Three Broomsticks standing behind him. "Mr. Evans and Mr. Riddle?"

"Yes," Tom said for the two of them.

"If you'll both be so kind as to follow me, we can begin the questioning process."

Harry and Tom shared a look before getting up and following the man out of the Hall. The entrance hall was much less crowded than before, there were only a few straggling students speaking with teachers, and most of the faculty had gone off somewhere. There were one or two staff members in the Great Hall watching over the rest of the school, but they were aided by the Head Boy and Girl. A few Aurors also stood near the large doors leading outside and were conversing with Professor Marleious, the Charms instructor.

"Okay, then." The three of them stopped in front of the second Auror who had arrived at the pub, Travers. "Mr. Riddle, was it?" The dark-haired Auror looked at Tom.

"Yes."

"You'll be going along with Travers here, and Mr. Evans?" Harry nodded. "You'll come with me."

The four of them split off into pairs and Harry followed his interrogator into the small room where first-years were brought before their sorting.

"Alright then," the Auror started when the door had shut behind them. "I'm Auror Davis, and I have a few questions for you. I would appreciate it if you answer truthfully and with as little embellishment as possible. I don't want to stay at this school any longer than I have to."

"Okay," Harry said. He agreed with Auror Davis and also wished for their session together to be completed quickly. Interrogations made him uncomfortable.

"Good. Now, in your own words, describe your experience, please?"

So Harry did, starting with his and Tom's arrival in The Three Broomsticks, and ending with being hit by the golden spell (omitting the name of the slightly Darker curse he'd used when dueling Grindelwald's follower). Auror Davis had used a Dict-O-Quill to gather Harry's statement.

"I see, I see. And you didn't feel anything strange when you were hit with the spell? Every detail helps, especially when I have to write up my report," Auror Davis asked, not really expecting Harry to give a detailed response of any merit.

"Not really. It all happened so fast. I couldn't see anything but golden light when the spell surrounded me. I couldn't hear anything from outside it. I didn't even know Dmitry—my friend—was shooting spells at it until I heard so afterwards. There was nothing but me." Harry hesitated, contemplating whether to continue or not. "It was almost like… While I was encased in the spell, I was in my own… World."

Auror Davis looked up from the notes he was reviewing, sharply. "Your own world?"

Harry nodded once. "Yes. Like the space inside the orb where I was located was my own dimension, separate from the one where everyone else was. I don't know if it's true, that's just how I felt," he quickly amended.

"If that's the case, then, you're quite lucky the spell didn't take," Auror Davis said pensively. "It might have wiped you from existence, if that's what it was supposed to do, which makes it even more dangerous than I previously thought. Of course, it could be nothing. As you said, it's just a feeling you had. We'll just question our captives thoroughly to see if any of them know who might have shot off the spell or what it's true purpose was. It's impossible to know at this time if it was meant for you or for someone else, and you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Harry gave a small smile. "I have a knack for that."

Auror Davis chuckled. "Good to see you still have a sense of humor after everything that's happened today. But I think that's everything I needed to know. " He quickly scanned his notes. "Yes, this seems to be a parallel to the stories your friends gave." He plucked the quill from where it hovered on its tip against the parchment, and signed his name. "Excellent. This interview is over. You may go now."

He held the door open for Harry, and Harry quietly murmured his thanks. Together they made the quick walk back to the now-empty entrance hall, where they parted ways, Auror Davis turning to go up the marble staircase, and Harry watching him go.

Had he made a mistake, telling the Auror so much truthful information about the spell he'd been hit with; the spell he'd invented? Harry didn't know what possessed him to ramble on about it the way he had. Auror Davis had been keenly interested in every minor detail he could give. It was likely that the information would be handed over to the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries if the Aurors couldn't figure out what the spell was supposed to do; but only if they felt there to be any serious danger from it could hypothetically cause. Hopefully they'd pass his statement off as just the nonsensical babbling of a shaken teen.

Now, though, it was too late for regrets. _What's done is done. Next time, I'll keep my mouth shut._

Harry started for the doors of the Great Hall, through which he could still hear the voices of the students, when they opened fractionally and the most unexpected person was let out.

He couldn't believe it. He blinked twice, rubbed his eyes, and just _stared. _It wasn't luck, it was _Fate_ intervening on his behalf and sending that meddlesome girl directly into his line of sight, when he was alone and she, unsurrounded.

And who was he to question Fate?

Harry slipped, unnoticed by the prey he stalked, down the stairs behind her, following at a fair pace, quietly, and with all the stealth he could muster. From the route she'd taken, it appeared that she was headed for her House.

She rounded the bend and Harry quickened his step, hoping to catch her in the hall before she entered the Hufflepuff common room. It might not be his _only _chance to corner her, but it was certainly a good one. And it was one where he didn't run the possibility of Tom stumbling across them (since Harry was sure the older boy was either still being questioned or of the opinion that Harry's questioning was just going a bit long). And Harry needed to know why she'd used _that_ spell; needed to find out on_ his own,_ even though no more than an hour ago he had promised Tom that they would question her together.

Just like earlier when the spell hit him and Harry wasn't ready to return home, he wasn't ready to air all his truths quite yet.

In the flickering torchlight that illuminated the hall, Harry watched Alexandria Moore approach the twin barrels that guarded the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. It was now or never.

Quicker than a striking viper, Harry raised his wand and shot off a stunning spell. It wasn't a powerful one that would knock her off her feet like what he'd done to the Grindelwald follower in The Three Broomsticks. There was no need to fill it with such force, especially when the only outcome Harry could foresee if he did so was on-edge professors swooping down on him. And that would hinder his process. Significantly.

His spell did its job well enough and he watched with hollow eyes as the girl's body crumpled to the floor. There wasn't a moment to lose—not a second to waste observing her body and thinking dreadfully angry thoughts. Hearing footsteps approaching from somewhere behind him, Harry levitated her body up and swiftly continued past the two barrels and further into the basement. The level of the school he was on currently was not as complex or labyrinth-like as the dungeons, but there were still a few unused rooms. Not classrooms exactly—more like excess storage space—but it would suit Harry's purposes just fine.

The third door he came across, he entered, and placed as many privacy and protection wards on it as he possibly could. The room was small, there was barely enough space for a bed, but it was empty, completely and totally. Harry let the Moore girl fall to the floor and sent out ropes to bind her. She would be disoriented when he lifted the _Stupefy_, but that would soon pass, and he really didn't feel like having _another_ duel, no matter how easy, that day.

He chewed on his inner cheek, contemplating the body laid out before him and what he'd say when she woke. "_Ennervate."_

Muddy brown eyes blinked open blearily. All it took was a second for Moore to realize she was bound and in a dark, unfamiliar room.

_"Lumos."_ The tip of Harry's wand illuminated, showing off his face, and the rest of the empty room. Moore squinted against the sudden bright light, her shoulders hunching as if that would somehow help shield her from it. Harry said nothing the whole time. He just stood there, waiting patiently, until the twit of a girl registered exactly who was in the room with her. It certainly was an entertaining sight when she did. Her eyes widened and she let out a shrill shriek. Her struggles became more frantic and she even started crying hysterically for help.

_As if anyone could hear her, _Harry thought in a brief flash of maliciousness. He'd soundproofed the small chamber in a most efficient manner. There would be no hero coming to rescue this pathetic witch. However, her frenzied screams were grating on his nerves. And he'd never accomplish his task if he couldn't make himself heard over her voice.

"_Silencio."_ The screeching stopped, though her mouth still moved. For whatever reason, this seemed to terrify Moore even more. Harry sighed and rubbed a hand down his face.

"Stop it." She did. _Huh. _He hadn't exactly expected that, but he wasn't about to let his mild amazement show in his face. "No one can hear you. I've silenced the whole room. No matter how loudly you shout, or scream, or whatever else it is you women do when you're scared, _no one will come and save you." _

Harry let that fact sink in for a moment, and when he could see the acceptance flicker in her panicked eyes, he continued. "Now, I have a few questions I'd like answered. I think you know what they are already. I don't _want_ to hurt you, but if you don't cooperate, I will." He hardened his voice and his gaze to sound more intimidating. He _didn't_ want to hurt her, very much, and he didn't know any spells that would be useful for interrogations that would make the task go any faster if Moore refused to cooperate. Since he'd abandoned his dream of becoming an Auror, he didn't think such techniques were much of a necessity to learn.

_Shows what you know._

It took a long moment for her brain to process it, but Moore eventually gave a jerky nod. Harry's lips curled into a sinister smile. He had to keep up appearances. "Good." He lifted the silencing spell, but left her bonds in place. Copying slightly from the speech he'd received from Auror Davis, Harry improvised, "I want this to be over and done with just as much as you do so we can both be on our way. I have other, better, things to do than spend more minutes of my life than necessary in your presence. Whatever I ask, I want you to be straightforward in your answer, got it?"

"Yes," she rasped out. It was good Moore turned out to be such a submissive Hufflepuff. If it were a Gryffindor, Harry doubted even threats of torture would be able to break through their stubborn, stupid bravery.

"Wonderful. I'm glad we see eye-to-eye on this subject. Now..." He paused, trying to come up with the best question his muddled mind could. "Why did you leave the Great Hall? I thought everyone was supposed to stay there."

Moore looked extremely uncomfortable, but answered anyway. "They've started letting a few of us return to the common rooms; if we wanted to go. I had no reason to stay in the Hall, so I left."

"Why aren't the teachers escorting you?" Harry wasn't complaining, he was simply curious.

"They're busy, or something," Moore muttered, looking at the floor. "Professor Marleious came into the Hall and spoke to Professors Tilbet and Merrythought, and then they announced that we were free to either remain in the Great Hall or return to our common rooms. Then they left. Nearly everyone decided to stay, but I didn't want to be around anybody anymore, so I went to my room."

"Hmm." It was a reasonable excuse, Harry supposed. As long as it was the _truth,_ but he had no way of being completely sure without using Veritaserum. Unfortunately, he didn't have any Truth Potion on hand, so he'd have to give Moore the benefit of the doubt and assume she was too terrified of him to risk her good health by lying.

It was time to get to the heart of the matter. "Why did you shoot off that spell earlier? At me; in Hogsmeade."

Her mouth tightened into a thin line of defiance, but the tremors of Moore's body betrayed her frightened state. Harry tapped his wand against his thigh as he waited. He counted each beat, and if he reached ninety and she hadn't answered...

_Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight—_

_"_Because you hurt my sister."

The tapping of his wand stopped, and Harry scrunched up his face in unalloyed confusion. "What?" As far as he could tell, he hadn't _physically _hurt anyone the entire time he'd been at Hogwarts. Did he slight Moore's sister emotionally? He didn't know anyone who went by that name though, other than the girl bound before him, and he'd only just learned of her surname that day.

His incomprehension did not go unnoticed. It seemed to both embolden Moore and infuriate her.

"Don't act like you don't know!" She struggled to sit up, twisting her body and working her abdominals to get out of the laying position she'd been in. "You and your evil ways. You're a Slytherin; you practice _Dark magic_! You think you're above everyone else because you're family's managed to _inbreed_ in every generation. I came to this school, I heard the rumors, and I wouldn't have believed them if I hadn't seen you and your _House_ acting all high-and-mighty, like a bunch of snot-nosed rich _brats_. But lording over everyone else wasn't enough for _you,_" Moore sneered, becoming more impassioned with every word. Harry let her continue her rant uninterrupted since it was getting him answers, no matter how odd.

"It's not enough for _Harry Evans_ that muggle-borns are already faced with discrimination at every turn in _this_ world. No," she said with a hysteric, mirthless giggle, "_I_ think you just couldn't _handle_ the fact that we're overcoming it. That we're successfully integrating ourselves into this magical society. That more and more muggle-borns are coming into the wizarding world and staying, no matter what you and your _Pureblood_ friends try to do to force us out. It must really _burn_ you to know that you couldn't do anything about our success _the legal way_."

Harry's eyebrows rose higher and higher as he managed to catch on to what she was implying. "Hold on, you don't think—"

_"Don't tell me what to think!"_ she screeched, taking full advantage of Harry's silencing spells and piercing his eardrums with her shrill voice, making him flinch. Moore didn't seem to realize as she continued on her tirade, "I might be a Hufflepuff, but that doesn't mean you can boss me around! I know what the rest of the school thinks about my House; that you all look down on us as stupid just because we're friendlier than the rest of you rude, pompous, pretentious—ugh!" she growled out, clearly frustrated. "But you know what? I didn't care. I was content to live my life and finish up at this _prejudice-filled_ academy of _learning_. But then _you_ had to come along and ruin it all by _petrifying my sister!" _

Ah, Harry realized. Moore's sister must have been the third student petrified. He hadn't heard the name of the student—he couldn't remember if he'd even heard the gender—but now her anger made sense, sort of. Even though it was entirely misplaced.

_"_I didn't—"

"Don't deny it!"

"I'm not—"

"I won't believe your—"

"SHUT UP!" Ringing silence filled the room. Harry took a deep breath and scowled down at Moore, who returned with a savage one of her own. "I know there are rumors circulating the school about how I'm Slytherin's heir, but that's a load of Hippogriff shit. It's only a rumor because Dumbledore couldn't keep his mouth shut—"

"I heard it from Aquila Edavane."

Harry couldn't help but let his jaw go slack. _What? _Moore sneered up at him in smug contempt, clearly thinking that this new bit of information proved her point. "Yes, Edavane told me all about you and your plot to rid the world of us dirty _Mudbloods,_" she spat, her face contorting into a most ugly expression at the vile word before returning to one of vindictive glee. "I bet you didn't expect to be betrayed by one of your own? But really, what could you expect? _You're_ friends aren't loyal like us Hufflepuffs—"

Harry burst out laughing, he couldn't help it. It wasn't that he thought it particularly _funny_. The situation was too ridiculous. Moore didn't appreciate being laughed at (who would?) and sat there, glaring hatefully at Harry until he managed to get himself back under control.

"Ahah," he wiped a stray tear from his eye. "Aquila Edavane, you said?'

"Yes," Moore repeated. "She confirmed my fears this morning."

_Well that's convenient, I guess._"'Confirmed your fears?'" Harry questioned, cocking his head to the side and brushing his stray thought away, storing it in the back of his mind for later.

"Yes. I've been suspicious of you for a while now." It seemed that Moore had no problem divulging all her secrets. Then again, if she really truly did believe with every fiber of her being that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin and had been petrifying students, she probably thought she was going to die soon and saw this as her last confession. It wouldn't be too difficult for her to believe that her current predicament was her last moments in life, especially after a day like today. Being a muggle-born, Moore was well aware of the wars waged in the muggle world. The devastation World War 2 had caused, and was still causing. And having been in the thick of Grindelwald's attack today... It would be much easier for her to delude herself into assuming that now were her final minutes on this earth.

"Why did you suspect me?"

"It's just the way you are. The presence that surrounds you."

"And I suppose the rumors didn't help at all, did they?" Harry asked wryly.

"My sister was only in second year!" Moore snapped suddenly. "She's a good girl, so kind, so sweet, and you hurt her! So I hurt you," she snarled, like a rabid beast, spittle flying from her mouth. It wasn't a pretty sight, and quite frankly, Harry was tiring of the avenging-older-sister face. He was spending much too long down here with Moore; someone—namely Tom—would come looking for him soon, which was something he dearly did not need.

"Tell me about Aquila," he directed. "She told you I'm the one whose been attacking the students?"

"Yes, and—"

"It's not necessary for you give any more than one worded answers. I get it, you hate me. But that's gotten old already, so please, humor me." Once again he was on the receiving end of an incensed glare. "And... The spell... You got it from her as well?" It was a wild guess, but didn't seem entirely impossible.

"Yes," Moore ground out. Harry closed his eyes. Everything was beginning to fall into place. Things were finally starting to make sense. But they did not paint a very pretty picture.

"Did she tell you what the spell would do?"

"No." _Thank Merlin._ Maybe Aquila didn't know either? _Doubtful. _Opening his eyes, Harry stared down, meeting vicious brown.

"So, you were suspicious of me, Aquila confirmed your suspicions this morning, told you to perform this spell without telling you what it did, and what? You just did it? Like that? No questions asked, even though Aquila's one of the slimy Slytherins you _so_ despise?"

Moore pursed her lips. "She told me it would show you for what you truly were. It would help my sister get better—"

"Your sister would be _fine_ by now if the bloody school weren't so _cheap_ and ordered a batch of bloody Mandrake drought!" Harry shouted, tired of hearing Moore's excuses. His raised tone seemed to shock her into silence. That, or it was his words. "For Merlin's sake, you stupid, _stupid_ girl. You're sister's neither dead nor dying; she's _petrified._ She's in a perfectly preserved state and will once again rejoin us in the realm where time continues moving forward once she's had a bit of potion. Whatever _spell_ Edavane had you shoot at me—" Harry wasn't going to admit he knew what it was, "—wouldn't have done a bloody thing!" Bluffing seemed to be his forte that day.

Harry wanted to punch something—preferably Moore's gobsmacked face. Sadly, he couldn't, and so he settled for the next best thing. Using every ounce of his Occlumency training, Harry cleared his mind of all thoughts. In doing so, he helped bring about a meditative state that calmed the swirling tempest of emotions being whipped up within.

"Wh-What are you doing?" Harry couldn't blame the quivering in Moore's voice. Going from hot to cold so quickly never boded well for the person on the receiving end; in this case, Moore. He looked at her, eyes carefully blank, pointed his wand, and murmured one word.

"_Obliviate."_

Harry wasn't a master of memory charms like Lockhart. He couldn't take away a single memory that happened years ago, or even a single moment that occurred hours prior. He could only wipe away events in chunks. In the case of Alexandria Moore, he took away Saturday, December eighteenth, nineteen forty-three. Her face was blank as her eyes glazed over—the telltale signs of an _Obliviate._ In that short span of time, Harry got rid of her bindings and lowered the charms he had on the room.

"Today is Saturday, it's the last day of the term," he said, helping Moore to her feet. People were always more susceptible to whatever they were told in the first minute after their memories had been wiped. "There was an attack on Hogsmeade today by the Dark Lord Grindelwald's forces." They left the room and he led her quickly down the corridor. "You were there, but you fell and hit your head. You blacked out. You remember nothing."

He gave Moore a little push in the direction of her common room and hid, counting silently in his head to three hundred before exiting the alcove where he was stationed.

Harry's footfalls echoed, bouncing off the stone walls as he hurried, deep in thought, back to the Great Hall. What he had heard disturbed him. That Aquila could possibly know... No, _knew—_because she did know something. But to what extent, Harry wasn't sure. It was bad, that much was obvious. Did she know about how he didn't really belong in this time period, or did she simply think his research was just that. Research.

_Crap_.

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as it beat erratically in his chest. This was not good. It was the worst situation imaginable. Harry felt entirely helpless, breathing heavily through his mouth and he marched speedily through the corridors, pondering his next move.

What could he do?

Everyone was leaving tomorrow. Even most of the students who had originally planned on staying behind in the castle were probably going to change their plans and return home. Doubtless, they wanted to spend time with their families after such a sudden, horrible attack. Aquila had never planned on staying behind in the first place, so the next and only time Harry could confront her would be after the break.

And he _would_ do so.

It would be quick and there would be a lot of Veritaserum involved. Aquila was _not _like Moore. She wouldn't be persuaded to give out the desired information without some amount of torture _actually_ taking place. _She_ knew Harry wasn't the Heir of Slytherin, so he couldn't scare the information out of her with that angle. He would have to brew the potion over the break. Slughorn would probably notice if some of his stock mysteriously vanished, and Harry wasn't willing to risk it. Veritaserum was much too expensive to buy on its own, and heavily regulated by the Ministry.

Of course, the second sizable problem Harry was faced with was what he would do with Aquila _after_ he found out what she knew. His _Obliviate_ only worked with Moore because she had learned of the information that day. She was approached by Aquila _that morning._ He hadn't wanted to erase her memory of the whole day, but there wasn't anything else he could do with the timeframe he had and the skill set he possessed. With Aquila... Well, he couldn't just erase her memory for the _month_ of December, now could he? It would be suspicious, even more so than Moore remembering nothing about the Hogsmeade attack. Harry only hoped anyone who did notice simply brushed it off as Moore suppressing memories and didn't push too hard. Or believed her when she said she fell and hit her head. The only problem with Moore's story for anyone who decided to check it out fully (_Tom_) would be that there weren't any records of her visiting the hospital wing, and Harry didn't care enough about completely solidifying it to risk suspension and suspicion by sneaking into Healer Mitchell's office and falsifying their records.

He gnawed on his lowed lip and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He needed to calm down. If he entered the Hall as agitated as he was now, he wouldn't even be able to hide his distress from a Gryffindor first-year. And he couldn't have Tom getting any more suspicious than the older boy would be when he found out Moore remembered nothing about the Hogsmeade day. Merlin help the poor girl when that came to light.

_Deep breaths, Harry. Deep breaths._

Maybe there was a potion that would make Aquila forget? Or some other spell that was not _Obliviate_? It would probably be labeled as Dark, of that, Harry was positive. Anything that messed with another's mind generally was. The only reason _Obliviate_ wasn't banned completely was because Aurors needed to be able to use it on muggles who saw something they shouldn't. But even then, ordinary people weren't allowed to just fire off the memory charm whenever fancy took. If anyone ever found out what he did, Harry would probably spend a few months or even a year in Azkaban. He wasn't completely sure on Wizarding Laws, and so the exact amount of time he'd be forced to acquaint himself with the dementors was mainly guesswork on his part. The exact timespan didn't matter, however, because only a day amongst them with no patronus charm to guard against their hunger would surely break his sanity.

So Harry vowed not to get caught.

There was plenty of time to sneakily browse the library and its Restricted Section. If Tom asked, Harry would say he was trying to find the spell used on him. If the older boy made no mention or comment, Harry wouldn't bring it to his attention. Either way, the Yule holidays were beginning to look like they wouldn't be much of a holiday at all.

And that was the price Harry would pay for his secrecy.

He finally took in his surroundings and Harry noticed he was back in the entrance hall. He paused and took a final few steadying breaths before schooling his features into blank neutrality and striding back into the dining room. There were less people than there were before he left. It seemed more students had voted to return to their common rooms instead of staying in the Great Hall to gossip and nibble on the snacks the house elves provided for the shell-shocked children. Or it could be that those who hadn't left felt safer in a larger group. Harry didn't know, nor did he care.

He made a beeline for the Slytherin table, whose occupants looked less shaken, yet still fearful all the same. As he approached his friends, Abraxas looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"That took a while."

Harry shrugged half-heartedly and slid into the open seat next to Dmitry. "He had a lot of questions." _Lie; lie through your teeth._ _"_I think he was trying to discern my state of mind. Since being hit by weird glowing ball-things tend to cause dramatic breakdowns in unfortunate cases such as mine."

Abraxas hummed and went back to talking about how he thought he'd done on his exams.

Harry's eyes drifted lazily down the table and halted on a head of strawberry blonde curls. The owner was deep in conversation with those around her and didn't see Harry's gaze harden. Didn't see the bone-chilling stare that promised retribution and demanded answers. If she had, she surely would have become a blubbering mess and left Hogwarts, and maybe even England, for good.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Sorry for any mistakes in the chapter. I edited it kind of quickly. I hope you liked it! Also, thank you to everyone who reviewed. It helped me get this chapter out quicker than I thought I'd be able to.


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